Eli
by ImanSlytherin
Summary: Life in the Glade had never been easy, but when the new Greenie survives a night in the Maze after her banishing, things take a sharp turn among the Gladers.
1. 1 Welcome to the Glade

**1\. Welcome to the Glade.  
**  
The first of my senses to have been attacked, in my very first memory, was smell. Everything felt and _smelled_ squalid. It took me a second to realize how dark it was, so much that I couldn't even see my own hand in front of my eyes. I was about to stand up when I heard numerous triggers and metal clanking.

And before I could try to recognize the sounds, the cage —it felt like a metal cage— started rising at bullet speed, kind of like an elevator. I chose to stay put, rather than risking a fall with my organs all down my butt. My heart was hammering in my chest, my mind was racing, I felt like I was about to throw up. I could feel my body quaking in fear and anticipation.

The ride felt like it was going on for twenty minutes, and the initial shock started fading by then. Instead, I was impatient to be over with it. The clanking had started to feel like it was happening a millimeter from my eardrums. I started seeing when a red light turned on at my destination. It was still yards higher but I could finally use my eyesight. I wasn't the only thing being delivered, as I saw boxes and fabric bags on the other three corners of the elevator.

I had made up my mind to go and check what the boxes contained when the elevator stopped suddenly, sending me nearly a foot in the air, and triggering an ear-splitting, alarm-like roar. I hadn't noticed that the lighting was intensifying until the journey stopped. I stood up and dusted what I could of my clothes before getting startled at the light suddenly turning off and turning back on in green.

Next thing I knew, a blinding light shot inside the cage and the alarm-like, blaring sound stopped. I shielded my eyes with my forearm as they tried to adjust to the sudden change. At first, I caught a male chatter but as what I guessed were the doors opened further, the talking stopped. I blinked several times to give my eyes the opportunity to adapt before risking a look outside.

All around the square opening stood boys. Not younger than twelve and not older than perhaps twenty. They had looks of awe— maybe shock? I couldn't quite place the emotion in their eyes. I subconsciously took a step back. They all looked like they had never seen a girl before, and that made alarm bells go off in my brain. One of them, a dark-skinned boy— easily the oldest, shushed the dawning and unintelligible murmurs before throwing a rope toward me. I subsequently saw the hook it had instead of an end, and eyed it suspiciously.

"Put your foot in the hook, we'll pull you up," one of the other boys spoke in a British accent.

I frowned. I most didn't want to find myself among twenty teenage boys.

"D'you think she understands?" Another dark-skinned boy wearing an apron asked.

My frown deepened in annoyance as I took deliberate steps toward the rope and did as told. My heart hammered incessantly in my chest as I felt them heaving me up to wherever they were. I tried remembering when was the last time I had been the only girl among so many guys, but found I couldn't. I tried remembering _anything_ at all, but every passing thought escaped me like water rushing down a sink. I was overtaken by a slight panic as I saw the grass all around. I sat on the edge of the opening and stood up as quickly as I could, before any of them deemed me unable to stand up by myself. The last thing I needed was one of them to lay a hand on me.

I took a useless look around, as my vision was still hazy. Stress was slowly but surely taking over me as I started walking away from the compact group of boys, ignoring every sound that came from them. I struggled to keep all fear off of my expression when I was finally away from them.

The oldest, dark-skinned boy walked toward me slowly, his hands raised as though to reassure me. So I did look scared, "Hey, it's okay to be afraid. But we're not gonna hurt you, okay?"

I asked the first question that came to mind, "Are there no other girls?" Before squinting at my own idiocy. I could've slapped myself. Out of everything to ask, really?

He came closer to me and I took a step back, he stopped, "Er no. No, you're the first girl to come up the Box."

I frowned and took a hesitant step toward him, to show I wasn't completely terrified of him, "Where am I?" I asked, trying my hardest to keep my composure.

He gestured around him, "This, here, is the Glade, okay? I'll explain everything in your tour."

I pressed my lips into a thin line and nodded. Before I could ask further questions though, I felt a rush of movement to my right. I turned sharply to see a black dog running toward me. My first reflex was to shuffle on my feet, but then I saw it wagging its tail and something told me not to be afraid of it. I waited until the animal reached me and started sniffing me. After a tense minute, the dog wagged its tail again as it threw its harm legs on my chest in an attempt to play. The first smile I ever remembered having crossed my face as I caressed the dog's head, between its ears.

"Well, looks like we ain't the only ones happy to finally get a girl," one of the boys spoke, immediately wiping that smile off my face.

"Shut your hole, Fry! She's scared enough as it is," the dark-skinned boy scolded.

I had millions of questions rushing through my head, so I tried pushing the dog off of me. It stood on its four legs for a moment before jumping at me again.

I let out a breath of a chuckle as I started murmuring to it, "All right, down now. We'll play later, big boy."

Something told me the dog was male, as active as it was in its adult size. I tried remembering where I had learned that, but like everything else I knew, I couldn't figure out when or where. Surprisingly though, it obeyed me and stepped back a few steps, still wagging its tail. I decided to turn my attention to the gaping boys then. I had to deal with them, at some point, as badly as I wanted it to be over with.

My lips parted but I didn't quite know what I ought to say or ask. I instinctively folded my arms over my chest and spoke to the guy, "What's your name?"

"My name is Alby," he replied calmly, "what's yours?"

I opened my mouth and inhaled sharply to answer, but found I couldn't. What was my name again? I frowned at the grass before blurting out, almost unwillingly, "Elizabeth."

Alby smirked, "Welcome to the Glade, Elizabeth."

"Yeah, welcome!" Another guy tossed, raising his hand.

"Where's she gonna sleep?" A third one piped up, but I couldn't distinguish who it was.

"Slim it! Get back to work, you slintheads! The supplies ain't gonna unload all by themselves," Alby shouted at them authoritatively. Everything about him screamed: «Leader».

"You're the leader?" I asked, without exactly thinking about it beforehand.

"Yeah," he grunted frustratedly. What the heck was this sudden mood change?

Three, rather well-built guys jumped inside the cage— what did he call it, again? The others slowly separated, each taking a different direction, their eyes never leaving me. I shifted my weight on my left leg and tapped my right foot on the ground repeatedly. Alby walked closer to me, nearly in my personal space. He was soon joined by another who skipped toward us with a staff he used to lean on. His right leg was heavily bandaged, too.

"Aye Greenie," I recognized his voice as the British guy who was the first to speak to me. He extended his hand toward me, "I'm Newt, by the way."

I shook his hand with a tight smile, "Eli."

He had the same smile on his face he would've had on Christmas morning, which took me aback. What was there to smile for? It wasn't like I was going to raise them from perdition or anything. If anything, I knew less than everyone in the Glade.

He spoke again, addressing Alby, "I hope you know those shanks won't get any bloody work done today, don't you?"

Alby scowled, "They'd better work like always if they don't wanna spend their next nights in the Slammer. Watch her while I get them moving."

"All right," Newt muttered with a smirk as he saw Alby leave in heavy steps. He then turned to me, "You're gonna spend a hell of a first few days in here, Greenie."

I squinted at him, "Huh?"

He smiled wider, "You're the first girl we've ever got. Shanks will certainly need time to adjust, and get used to you."

"No but, what did you call me?" I clarified, looking up at him. He must've been around nine or ten inches taller than me.

"Oh that. Greenie, that's what we call the newest additions," he explained as he started walking slowly. I followed him.

"It's weird," I commented between my lips as I folded my arms again.

He surveyed me for a second before adding, "You don't ask many questions, do you?"

"It's to avoid the information overload," I replied automatically.

My eyes started looking for the horizon, but I didn't find it. Instead, the Glade was fenced in by four gigantic, concrete walls, each having an opening. I couldn't see much of what lay beyond, though I wanted to.

I turned to Newt, "Where are we?"

He frowned at me, looking like a confused child as he did so, "We're in the Glade..?" Newt trailed off, unsure.

"Yeah, but where is the Glade situated? In which country or city?" I asked before pointing at the openings, "Where do these openings lead?"

His frown intensified, turning into one of worry and probably something like bother, "We'll take this slow, all right, Greenie?"

"My name is Eli," I spoke calmly, "and I believe it's slow enough to tell me which country I'm in."

He snorted, "All right, _Eli_. I'm afraid I can't tell you which country we're in, no one knows. As for the Doors, we'll explain later."

"Why not now?" I asked back, pursing my lips.

He chuckled at my impatience, "All in good time. Come on, gonna show you where you're gonna be sleeping until we find somewhere more suitable."

I blinked, "More suitable for what?"

He surveyed me from head to toe, "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're the only girl among thirty lads. Bound to be problematic if we're thinking long-term."

"Oh... Is there a place where no one sleeps?" I asked timidly.

"I'll show you to a room, for starters. Then we'll ask Gally to build you something more suitable. He's the Keeper of the Builders, it's his job," he added quickly when he saw how embarrassed I felt about having to ask someone something.

I still had my pride, if nothing else, and having to ask someone for something felt like trading my soul for it. I'd have to learn the ropes of the Glade quickly so as not to owe anyone anything.

Something in what he said rose an interrogation within me, "His job?"

He nodded curtly, "Alby will explain everything on the tour. Just be patient, all right? Today, you just relax and try and get used to the place."

I scoffed, "Right. I uh... I'm kind of hungry," I murmured, hoping he wouldn't hear me.

Of course he would. He gave me a sympathetic smile and put his hand on my back, "Let's see what Frypan's got for you, then, shall we?"

I refrained from removing myself from his touch as we made our way toward a building, so badly assembled it was a wonder it was still holding up. It looked as though throwing a pebble at it would bring it down entirely. I grimaced as I saw a boy in one of the upper levels and Newt must've caught it.

He chuckled, "Don't worry, the Homestead is sturdy. Has been for years."

That had me wondering, "How long have you guys been here?"

This seemed to bother him some, "You really can't wait tomorrow, can you?"

I cringed. If his smile was gone, I must've pissed him off, "Sorry."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "No, it's all right. It'd be bloody weird not having you ask so many questions anyway. Let's get you something to eat first."

"Okay," I murmured and decided not to speak anymore unless asked a question.

Newt brought me to a wobbly picnic table, "You wait for me a minute, I'll be back, all right?"

I nodded and sat on the bench at the table. I kept receiving curious glances from every single boy walking by me. At some point I wondered what exactly they were looking at— I didn't remember what I looked like, I hadn't even taken notice of what I was wearing. I took a look down my sat body and saw that I was wearing combat pants with removable legs, and a white, short-sleeved t-shirt. I scoffed, _White. Not for much longer,_ I thought as I leaned back to check my footwear. Black combat boots. And quite comfortable ones at that.

It had been five minutes of deep thinking when I saw a tray with a plate and a metal cup on, placed between my elbows on the table. I looked up to see Newt smiling again. I glanced at the plate and saw a sandwich on it. I lifted the top bread to find fried chicken, some salad, and a melted slice of cheese. And in the cup was clear water.

"Thank you," I murmured. It hadn't been an hour and I was already tired.

"You're welcome," he grinned as he sat across from me.

I waited no longer as I grabbed the sandwich and dug in. It didn't taste bad and, at that point, it was all I cared about. I finished the meal in close to fifteen minutes and then drank the water.

*

Two hours later found me inside the Homestead, in one of the rooms I suspected belonged to Alby or the one just below him in authority. There was literally nothing inside but one hammock hung in the bottom right corner, a desk and a chair on the opposite corner; and a window between the two.

"So you're gonna sleep here until Gally builds your place," Newt explained with a lazy wave toward the room.

I nodded. It was the second time I heard about Gally, yet still didn't know what he looked like. "Okay... Whose room is this?"

"Mine," he announced somewhat proudly.

I frowned, "Oh... I'm sorry for intruding—"

"No, no. It's all right, really. I'll sleep in Alby's room," Newt brushed off my apology, his voice breaking mid-sentence.

I pressed my lips together, "Won't it disturb Alby, though?"

"He'll deal with it. It's two weeks at most, then you'll have your own place," Newt tried reassuring me but I still felt bad about depriving him from privacy.

"I'm still sorry about that, Newt," I apologized, wringing my hands.

He smiled down at me, "It's all right. He owes me one," he lied.

"Thank you," I murmured.

He tapped my shoulder lightly, "You're welcome."

I got into the room and sat on the hammock, swaying. "This is nice..."

He smiled softly, "Yeah... Oh, by the way, a trunk meant for you got in. Alby asked someone to bring it up her—"

"Newt this thing is heavy and violently pink, I can't believe—"

"Will you stop bloody complaining, Clint?" Newt growled with a frown.

Clint dropped the truly very pink trunk right beyond the threshold and panted, "That's it. I'm not moving it an inch farther."

I wrinkled my nose at the color, "Ew, pink..." I stood up from the hammock and smiled at Clint, "Thanks, I'll take it from here."

"She's polite, I'll give her that," he commented as he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

"She's here, you know?" I retorted, making Newt snort and Clint raise his eyebrows.

I dragged the trunk right in the middle of the room and sat cross-legged, facing it. I undid the clasps and raised its lid to find neatly stacked clothing on the right of the wide trunk. I couldn't get a good look at everything inside so I started pulling the items one by one and commenting on them under my breath.

Pulling out a black tank top, "Well that's a cheerful color..." a beige flannel shirt, "Nice, nice..."

This went on for another minute with safari shorts, a black pair of combat pants, and a white tank top. I folded every item I pulled out on the floor, next to the trunk, and saw a medical kit. I pulled it out and Clint seemed suddenly interested. I opened it to find a set of bandages, scissors, rubbing alcohol, and three pill containers: one black, and two silver. I read the label of the black one: «Birth Control— Once a Day.»

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, setting it aside.

"What is it?" Clint asked, brow knitted together.

I tossed him the small box and he easily caught it, "Useless, that's what it is."

Clint squinted at the label before turning a light shade of pink, "I'll keep this in the Medwing. You holler if you ever need it."

"Okay," I agreed distractedly as I read the labels on the silver ones: «Cramps— Twice a Day.» "These, I'm keeping."

"What is it?" Clint asked again.

"What are you, some kind of weird junkie?" I asked with a frown, making Newt laugh and Clint scowl, although he soon snorted.

"Clint's a Med-jack," Newt explained.

I squinted at the term, "Am I supposed to understand?"

"Like a doctor," Clint reiterated.

I raised my eyebrows and nodded slowly, "Ohh, okay."

"So what's in the second one?"

"Pills for cramps," I shrugged, looking further inside the trunk.

"Doesn't sound exclusively feminine," Newt frowned.

" _Period_ cramps," I specified, making him flinch as though I'd just hit him.

"All right, never mind," he muttered under his breath.

Next thing I saw was a bag of toiletries, which reminded me that I sort of stank. Inside, there was shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, a bar of soap, a comb, two razors, and the best for last: a dozen hair ties. Those, I would need. I hadn't realized I was smiling from ear to ear until I felt the boys' heavy gazes on me.

After pulling out the bag of toiletries, I noticed something important was missing: underwear. What was more, the trunk looked bigger from the outside than on the inside. I then had the reflex to knock on the bed of the trunk and it resonated. I inspected the neat, silver bed of the outrageously Barbie pink trunk for something to help pull out the bottom lid. I found somewhere I could fit two fingers and pulled. Under my eyes and those of Newt, who had been sitting at the desk since I started pulling my things out, was a set of female underwear.

Fashionable bras, sports bras, boxers, knickers, and even small, tight shorts. I pushed between two piles and saw period necessities— except for chocolate. I closed it again, not feeling the need to get those out just yet.

I spoke as I started placing my folded clothes in the trunk again, "So that's it. Um say, where can I shower?" I asked, looking up.

Newt stood up, "I'll show you, come on."

"Not just yet, I want to make sure no one else is using the showers while I do," I requested as I shut the trunk's lid and clicked the clasps.

"Why?" Newt asked and I scowled meaningfully at him.

Clint simultaneously announced, "I'll be in the Medwing. Later, Greenie!"

He was gone before I could tell him my name, "How long will my name be 'Greenie' for?" I sighed as I stood up.

"Until the Box sends another Greenie, sorry," Newt chuckled, walking closer to me.

I went to the window and looked over the Glade, "I don't know if I forgot a set of words on my way up here or if you guys have a really weird way of talking."

He laughed again, "We have a special dialect is all. It's quite easy to catch on, really."

"Teach me that dialect of yours," I asked, trying and failing to imitate his accent.

He laughed, his eyes nearly closing, "You know, it's not very kind to mock my accent."

It was my turn to laugh, "Oh I wasn't. I'd love to have the same, to be honest."

"Oh, I'm sorry, was that a compliment?" Newt looked mock-scandalized. I had been cold and emotionless ever since I came out of the Box, so I figured I took him aback just by being nice.

I nudged his shoulder, "Don't get used to it..."

Newt was gonna answer when someone called him from downstairs. He grimaced, "I have to get downstairs a while, you gonna be all right in here?"

I nodded, "Sure, go ahead. I need to think anyway, I don't mind alone time."

He gave me a small smile before disappearing through the doorway. I set to looking out the window again, my thoughts racing. I needed to come to terms with the fact that I was going to live in the Glade. I was still rather curious as to what lay beyond the openings, but I decided to be patient until tomorrow. Hopefully everything would be explained.

My mind wandered to random topics when I saw two guys jogging from the outside of the openings. I focused on them and found one was a tall blond in a white shirt, and the other was an Asian boy in a blue shirt, his black hair spiked up at the front. One of the younger boys ran to them and started talking animatedly. They seemed to pay him no heed at first, but one of his words seemed to catch their attention. They both stopped their jog and looked to where he pointed. And then I realized he was pointing at Newt's window. I chose to act as though I hadn't noticed them, simply because I was too nervous to acknowledge them. I needed to find a way to get over my social anxiety, somehow.

I suddenly heard stumbling steps coming closer, ending in a breathless boy of maybe fourteen coming at the door, "Hey, you need to get downstairs. Alby said you mustn't see it happen from here."

I blinked confusedly at him, "See _what_ happen?"

"You'll see. Alby will explain," the boy then looked past me, across the window, and added, "it's gonna happen soon, come on."

He disappeared without giving me any other indication, much less his name. I followed his path quickly and found myself at the foot of the Homestead in no time. I looked for Alby and found him talking to the Asian boy in a blue shirt. I hesitated on whether to go towards Alby directly or to wait for him to finish talking with the other one. I picked the option which fit my social anxiety best and stood, lost, waiting for things to happen.

"Hey Greenie!" A voice I wasn't familiar with called me.

I turned to find the tall blond who came in with Blue Shirt earlier, "Hey," I replied unenthustastically.

"Figure Alby called you down for the Closing," he grinned before extending a hand, "I'm Ben, by the way."

I shook his hand, "Greenie, apparently, but you can call me Eli."

His smile widened as he gestured to the Door he came from, "I'll be your guide for this, then."

I frowned then, "I was sent for by Alby. Isn't there some sort of protocol to be followed..?" I trailed off, unsure.

Ben was about to brush it off when we heard a deep throat clearing. Alby appeared behind him, "Don't you have a section to map, Ben?"

Ben lost his swagger then, "Yeah, t'was what I was about to do..."

Alby pointed toward a safely guarded, concrete room not far from the Homestead, "The Map Room's over there."

Ben smiled at me sheepishly, "I'll see you at dinner, Greenie." And he jogged toward the said-Map Room. Why did I even bother giving them my name?

"Shuck-face doesn't lose a second," Alby seethed before checking his watch, "come on, Greenie. It's almost time."

"What's gonna happen?" I asked as I followed him towards the nearest Door.

He glared at me, "Don't ask questions."

I shot him a scowl he brushed off but didn't say another word. We walked until being a few yards from the Door. He faced me and everything about his expression was strict.

He placed his left hand on my right shoulder and caught my gaze, "See the Door behind me? It's gonna close for the night. Now what you need to remember is that we're on the safe side of that Door. If someone stays beyond it after it closes, he just signed his own death warrant— or she, for that matter." He added the last part raising his eyebrows.

I frowned at him, "That gigantic wall... moves?"

Alby checked his watch again, "One more minute. I'll ask you not to panic."

"Er okay," I fidgeted, uneasy.

 _Boom._

It was brief, but shook the ground and vibrated in my bones. I took a step back and my jaw fell open as the right wall started moving toward the left, heaving dust and creating sparks on its way. I turned to the other Doors and they were all in sync. I couldn't believe what I was watching was really happening. My breath hitched and I was certain my face showed fear.

Approximately two minutes after the moving started, another " _Boom_ " was heard and the four Doors were sealed.

The first words to escape my lips were, "Well shit..."

"Now you go back to what you were doing. The Tour is tomorrow, I'll explain everything then," Alby spoke before leaving.

I turned around to follow him with my eyes for a few seconds before turning back to the Door. I sat, cross-legged, facing a gigantic concrete wall. My mind started wandering to the bigger picture. Why would being here considered "safer" than outside?... What's out there?

I had been subconsciously pulling out grass when I heard someone clearing his throat, "Zart isn't gonna be too happy about the new Greenie vandalizing."

I turned to find one of the tougher guys, "Sorry... I'm— I guess I'm just trying to cope with all of this."

He crouched next to me with his elbows on his knees, "You're doing better than most Greenies, already."

I turned to look at him, "Thanks."

He gave me a lopsided grin, "You know, everyone's talking about you right now."

I scoffed, "Humor me..." I leaned back on my hands and sighed, "All I really need right now is a shower and time to think."

He imitated my position and chuckled, "Oh you'll get that. Today and tomorrow after the Tour with Alby. Otherwise, you're gonna spend a real busy two weeks with the tryouts."

I frowned, "What tryouts?"

"Haven't you noticed everyone has something specific to do?" He asked, raising his eyebrows, "No exceptions for Greenies. Even _girl_ Greenies..."

I nodded, "Yeah I guess it's fair enough. What's your job?"

He laughed lightly, "I don't think being a Builder would fit you."

I sat back straight, "Oh right. I'm supposed to meet your— your boss or however they call it around here, to discuss the building of a place away from everyone else."

He smirked, "My boss, huh?"

I pushed his shoulder playfully, "I still have difficulties with your way of talking, okay?"

He laughed and sat straighter as well, "Well for your information, Greenie, the leader of each group of workers is called their Keeper."

"Well then your _Keeper_ ," I reiterated, tilting my head at the word, "and I have to meet tomorrow after the Tour."

"Ah," he grimaced, "there's a little issue though."

I blinked, "What is it?"

"I don't have a Keeper," he replied, "since I _am_ the Keeper of the Builders." He extended his right hand toward me, "I'm Gally, Greenie."

I shook his hand, "Hi Gally. I'm Greenie."

He chuckled, "You don't remember your name?"

"I do. I just won't bother telling anyone about it until there's another person to call 'Greenie'," I explained, receiving a grin.

"Good that," Gally mumbled before looking behind us, "and there comes the limp."

"The who?" I muttered as I turned around to find Newt coming toward us.

He was a few yards away when he stopped walking, "Clint would flip to see you running, Newt." Gally warned.

I stood up to join Newt and Gally followed, "What happened to your leg?" I asked, immediately creating tension.

For a fraction of a second, Newt and Gally exchanged a worried glance until Newt spoke, "Fracture. I fell."

My brow knitted together, "Oh... It's getting better though, right?"

Newt frowned before nodding, "Yeah. Yeah, I can walk again. First few weeks, I was on permanent bed rest... Anyway, I came to tell you the showers are free now if you still want one."

I perked up at this, "Oh right, great! You're sure no one's there, right?"

Newt chuckled, missing the questioning look Gally gave him, "Sure. Minho must be done, he's the slowest."

"I gotta go, I'll see you two at dinner," Gally said as he left, "see you, Greenie."

I raised a hand, "Later, Gally." I turned to Newt, "Wait for me here, I'll be right back with my stuff so you can show me to the bathroom, yeah? Thanks."

Without waiting any longer, I trotted back to the Homestead and made my way to Newt's room. I flung open the outrageously pink lid and grabbed the toiletries, the beige shirt, the black combat pants, and underwear. I went back downstairs and found an amused Newt sitting at one of the picnic tables.

"You're the most thrilled person about a shower that I know," he spoke with a smirk.

"I'm the only girl that you know," I countered, "now tell me where I should go." Newt made to stand up but I raised my free hand, "No, it's alright. You don't have to move around so much for me, I can follow indications."

Newt, of course, wouldn't have any of it. He lead me to a sauna-like room with individual shower cabins and towels hung on hooks. At the end of the room was the one thing I haven't thought of wanting.

A mirror.

And a full-length one at that. Newt was giving me indications but I stopped listening. I walked slowly toward the mirror, suddenly extremely anxious about discovering what I looked like. What if I didn't like my appearance? What if, from now on, I had to bear a face that didn't fit who I was?

Getting closer to the mirror, I could already distinguish straight, dark brown hair and tanned skin. I wasn't fat but I was still sort of meaty— not really thin. The closer I got to the mirror, the more I could distinguish my features. My face was slightly square, with a hint of cheekbones and a visible jaw line. My nose was a little large for my liking but it molded with the rest of my features. I had round, dark brown eyes. And my lips were in a rather nice shape, which made me smile as I thought of it.

"Liking what you see?" Newt broke the bewildered silence with a snicker.

I let out a chuckle and saw my eyes light up. I bit my lip and murmured, "I don't hate it and that's more than adequate."

"Good that. Although there's nothing to hate, really," he said from where he stood. He cleared his throat loudly, as though desirous to change the subject, "well umm, I'm gonna let you do your thing. You holler if you need anything, I'll be outside unless Alby calls for me."

I nodded, reluctantly taking my eyes off of my reflection, "Okay. Thanks Newt."

He left, and I waited to hear the door close before choosing a shower cabin. I closed the door and peeled off my clothes. I hung them on the towel hook and realized I forgot to get one. I pondered over whether to call Newt for that but then decided that I'd get it after showering. He said everyone had showered so I wouldn't be disturbed... would I?

I washed up quickly and wrung my hair. I extended my hearing to check whether I was really alone. I couldn't hear a thing close by so I risked treading out of the cabin to grab one of the towels. I took the first I saw and dried myself starting with my hair. When I was dry enough, I tied it at my chest and realized how short it was. It only reached the quarter of my thighs and I felt monstrously exposed until I caught a glance of my legs in the mirror. Wearing the combats hid the real shape of my legs and I had to say I was quite proud of those.

I was so taken by my own reflection, as narcissistic as it sounded, I didn't hear the door open and the two or three steps the person took for me to be in their field of vision, "Well shuck..." an unfamiliar voice breathed out.

I whipped around to find— "Oh my God."


	2. 2 Tour

**2\. Tour** **  
**  
Blue Shirt raised his eyebrows, "I didn't think a girl Greenie would be so much fun."

I felt my cheeks burn as my mouth gaped, fishing for words, "Co— Could you turn around?" I stuttered, avoiding looking into his eyes.

He snickered as he took his sweet time turning around. I ran to the cabin I was using and dressed back up, all while praying for him to be gone by the time I got out. I kept a hair tie around my wrist before pulling on the beige flannel shirt. Thanking God it wasn't too tight, I buttoned it down and folded the sleeves to my elbows.

I took the time to fold my other clothes before getting out of the cabin, all my stuff in one hand and my hair brush in the other. All of that, though, nearly fell down as I realized Blue Shirt was still here.

"I figured I'd be polite enough to introduce myself, since I saw you fresh out of the shower," he smirked, leaning against a doorframe with his arms folded over his chest.

"Uh okay. Hi," I muttered, feeling my guts churn.

"Hi," he drawled, seemingly enjoying my nervousness.

I turned around, toward the mirror, and set my things down on the floor. I then brushed my hair and fixed it into a high ponytail. All the while feeling his persistent gaze on me.

"Newt is gonna have to explain why he didn't tell me you were here," I spoke, the nervousness quelling some.

"Newt was called by Alby," Blue Shirt replied before adding, "or so he thinks."

I rolled my eyes, "Great..."

I thought I'd hurl when I heard his deliberate steps toward me, "You know, it's not very polite to ignore someone struggling to greet you."

This made me emit something that sounded like a snort, "Struggling? You're so full of yourself..." I turned around to find him a meter away from me. I extended my hand, "I'm Elizabeth to you."

He shook my hand, which felt tiny against his large one, "I'm Minho the Great to you. Mighty Keeper of the Runners."

"Runners?" I repeated as I withdrew my hand.

"Haven't been on your Tour yet, have you?" Minho asked sarcastically.

"No shit," I replied just as wittily.

He smirked again, "Alright, so I guess I'll see you at dinner. Later, Elizabeth," he raised a lazy hand as a wave and left, chuckling.

"I don't think I like you very much, Mr. Minho," I muttered more to myself.

*

Dinner wasn't better. I had had to deal with what felt like a thousand stares on my way to be served. Veggie rice with optional meatballs. I decided to go with no meat and just hurry to where Newt was waiting with his food. I tripped at least twice and kept my head down, like the bullied kid in the school cafeteria.

I sat down on Newt's left. On his right was Alby, in front of whom were Gally and Clint, which left the spot in front of me empty.

That was, until a certain Asian Keeper sat down, "Bon appetite, shanks— oh, look who's here?"

I gave him a forced smile. I was getting gradually sleepy and frustrated, and he might just be a great outlet, "I must say, Newt's guardianship isn't the greatest I know of."

Newt, Clint, and Minho laughed at this before Newt spoke, "Really, terribly sorry about that, Eli. Minho's a bloody slinthead and the sooner you learn that, the better."

Minho threw some of his rice at Newt, a bit landing on my forearm, "I don't allow you, shuck-face... Eli?"

I pointed my fork at him, "It's still Elizabeth to you."

"Ohhh," Clint mocked, elbowing Minho.

I sighed and tapped my foot frustratedly, which caught Gally's attention, "Something wrong, Greenie?"

Something in his tone took me aback. He was colder than earlier and that made me uneasy. I shook my head and went back to poking my food, "Nothing, I'm tired."

Newt surveyed me, and I turned away, "I'd say you're the angry kind of sleepy."

I noisily let go of my fork and pushed the bowl away, "And the not-hungry kind of Greenie. I'm going to bed."

With that, I stood up and made my way toward Newt's room but I felt a now-familiar grip on my arm, "Hey, we didn't mean to make you leave."

Minho. Of course. I turned to him and pursed my lips, "Listen, I'm really not in the mood. I don't wanna hear or see anyone until tomorrow. It's not against you or anyone else, I just wanna be done with today. Now please let go."

He did, as he raised his eyebrows surprisedly, "Okay... Good night, Eli."

I kept myself from correcting him as I nodded, and left as quickly as I could. It wasn't especially dark yet, so I could just make out the rough features of the inside of the Homestead. When I finally got to Newt's room, I closed the door and sat in an empty corner, my knees against my chest.

Without me really having any control over the fact, I felt a tear roll down my cheek. Then two. And more, until I realized I was crying. It felt horrible and blissful at once. Horrible for all the events and stress that lead to it. Blissful to finally be able to rid myself of the ton that's been dropped on me.

As I finally calmed down, I scrambled to get on the hammock; wishing that tomorrow would be better. Or that I would at least get used to their teasing.

*

One night of dreamless sleep ended with a light shake of my shoulder. I struggled to open my eyes and keep them that way before I saw Alby, who looked a little too serious for this early in the morning.

"Mornin'," I mumbled groggily before stretching. It felt heavenly and made me wanna keep sleeping.

"Morning, Greenie. There's something you gotta see," his murmur had a hint of authority, so I thought I might as well get up despite not wanting to deal with life in the Glade.

I swung my legs over the hammock and wore my combat boots. Alby stood by the door and watched me tie my shoelaces in silence. When I was finished, he gestured for me to be quiet and follow him.

We left the Homestead and walked toward one of the walls. The only other ones awake were the guys Minho referred to as Runners. They were having breakfast while one of them loaded backpacks with food and water. Ben waved at me and I nodded curtly.

It was still dark outside, so I could distinguish colorful lighting through the ivy covering the wall. I saw Alby pushing some of it to the side and looking out what looked like a window. The lights illuminated Alby's face and my mind wandered to Christmas lights.

Suddenly he pulled me by the shoulder toward the window and said, "Watch."

Right before my eyes, I saw a sort of corridor illuminated like a party. Before I could question why the heck he wanted me to see this, I realized it wasn't exactly _that_ which I was supposed to see.

Silently moving across the corridor, as if it owned the place— and it probably did, was the most hideous creature I could ever imagine. It was as big as a bull, with the appearance of a gooey and radioactive, distant cousin of a scorpion. I could only stare as it moved, and realized horrifiedly that it was partly robotic.

At some point, it turned toward the window and stood still. I didn't dare drawing breath and waited. One second felt like a minute until the creature leapt and crashed against the window, making me jump back with a gasp.

Alby let the ivy fall back down, hiding the monstrous beast from view, "This thing is why the Glade is safer than the Maze."

I frowned at him, "Maze?"

"Yes. Your Tour is after breakfast. Don't be late." He instructed before leaving.

Taken by curiosity, I leaned back toward the window and pushed the ivy to the side. I glanced in, but there was nothing to see anymore. I decided to go back to bed— sleep was completely out of the question after what I'd just seen.

On my way back, I locked eyes with Minho and decided I should try to be decent to him. I gave him what I hoped was a sympathetic smile, and not a strained one as I was feeling. The smile he responded with, in fact, was sympathetic. I made my way through the sleeping boys toward my— Newt's room. A grinding sound made me aware of the Doors opening for the day, and left me to overthink about my short life.

*

After an hour or so, I started hearing voices and noise, telling me they had started waking up. I went to the window and, before I could even look out it, heard three brief knocks on the door. I opened it to find Newt and his crutch.

"Morning, Greenie," he smiled, "slept well?"

I nodded, "Awesome. I especially enjoyed the view this morning," I replied sarcastically before realizing my tone was rude, so I tried making it up, "but yeah, I slept well. Thanks again for lending me your room, you didn't have to."

His smile widened, although with a hint of an apology, "It's all right, really. So you saw a Griever?"

I blinked twice, "A what?"

"A Griever," he repeated, articulating, "that's what it's called. Don't worry though, the walls are too high for them to climb at night, and they go... wherever they go during the day."

I fidgeted as I followed him outside, "Alby said something about a Maze..."

Newt shifted, "I'll explain it during breakfast."

We sat at yesterday's table after grabbing scrambled eggs, bacon, water and small loaves of bread. We were joined by two guys I hadn't met yet and Clint.

"Good morning, Greenie," Clint greeted me, overdoing it for some reason.

I gave him a genuine smile, "Morning, Clint."

"I don't think you've met Zart and Jack, have you?" Clint asked, gesturing to one and the other in turn.

I pressed my lips together in a tight smile as I shook my head, "Um no, I haven't. Hi, I'm Elizabeth."

A light blond with a blue hoodie nodded, "Zart."

A black haired, hazel eyed guy in a no-longer-white shirt smirked, "I'm Jack."

I smiled briefly as I dug into my food. Newt spoke then, "So you wanted to know about the Maze, right?"

I nodded eagerly and swallowed, "Yeah, which Door leads to the Maze?"

Newt frowned, "They all do... We're surrounded by it."

I blinked and frowned as well, "Have you guys found a way out?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Clint purse his lips as Newt replied, "We uh... We're working on it. The— The uh— The Runners are the only ones to go into the Maze. They run it every day and map it when they come back. And they _have to_ make it back before the Doors close. I figure you know why..."

Thinking back on the Griever made a sour taste take over my mouth, "Right... Has it erm— Has a Griever hurt anyone before?" I asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Sat in front of me, Newt's eyes pierced through mine like a bullet as he uttered one syllable, "Yes."

I gulped hard, "Okay..."

"Well, this is cheerful," Clint commented with an awkward chuckle.

I let out a nervous chuckle as well, "So um... How long have the Runners been looking?"

"Nineteen months and a day to be exact," Newt replied before his face broke into a smirk that eased half my nerves.

"And how can you be so precise?" I teased, pointing my fork at him.

This seemed to turn him cold, "I used to be a Runner before I fell."

My mouth gaped. Out of things to say, I murmured, "But you're gonna be one again after you heal, right?"

Clint was the one to reply, "Actually, no. His fracture will leave him with a limp. And a heavy one at that, he can't run the Maze and make it back in time with his bad leg. He's gonna have to do something else after he heals."

I pursed my lips, "I'm sorry about that, Newt."

His hard face softened some as he murmured, "It's not your fault. I'll be a Track-hoe, it's what I used to do on my days off running anyway."

"What's a Track-hoe?" I asked, trying to subtly derive from the tense topic.

Then they set out on explaining to me the different jobs there were and which I'd have to tryout for every day for the two following weeks.

*

After breakfast, Alby came and motioned for me to follow him. We made our way back toward the Box, now closed.

He pointed at it, as if I needed any other indication what he was going to talk about, "This is the Box. Once a month, it brings us a new Greenie like clockwork— although, until yesterday, every Greenie was male. Once a week, we get supplies like clothes, food, etcetera. We don't need much, we produce pretty much everything we need.

"In fact, we know close to nothing about the Box. Not where it comes from, where it goes, or who loads it. We're provided in electricity and clothes, and the animals and the garden give us the food we need." He turned and motioned to the Glade, "The Glade is divided into four parts: Homestead, Garden, Slaughterhouse, and the Deadheads. Think you can keep up?"

It took me a second to realize he was waiting for an answer, "Gonna need a second to process it all, but you can go ahead."

He nodded once and carried on, "Each of the Maze Doors is a compass direction. The one in front of us is the North Door, and you know the rest." He gestured toward the northeast corner, whose main color was green, "The Garden. Where anything that can grow grows—" I kept myself from adding a sarcastic remark, "—water comes from underground pipes, 'therwise we'd all be dead by now. Never rains around here.

Alby then motioned to the southeast corner, where a steadier and smaller version of the Homestead was, with animals around and whose red paint was chipped, "Slaughterhouse, where we raise and kill the animals." He then pointed at the Homestead, "I figure you know what this is. It's twice as big as it was at the beginning, cause we expanded it as we got new construction material. We got a load of that with you, so I guess you're getting your own cabin. We'll see with Gally where you can place it.

He then motioned for the southwest corner, the most mysterious as it was only a thick forest with benches here and there, "The Deadheads. The graveyard is in the far corner and there's a small lake somewhere in the middle. We mostly go there to take a breather, hang out, depends on the mood."

"My new favorite place," I murmured before biting my lips. He said not to interrupt him.

He gave me a sideways glance before continuing as though I hadn't spoken, "You gonna spend the next fortnight working for each Keeper until we see what fits you best: Track-hoe, cook, Bagger, Slicer— although I doubt you'd choose the latter, lest you like blood. We'll find you a spot, we always do. Follow me."

We walked toward the East Door, the closest to the Box, and he stopped at the frontier between grass and concrete ground. It was then that I noticed the spikes that fit in the holes, along the height of the Door.

"Out there," Alby spoke, "is the Maze. Been trying to find a way out for a year and a half, to no avail. Shucking walls move every night like the Doors, so it never stays the same. Pretty shucking difficult to map."

I eyed the corridor, and noticed ivy going almost to the top— would've been impossible, really. The Maze walls were unreasonably high, like their designer needed to compensate for something. I nearly snorted at the thought.

"Okay so, rule number one, Greenie: Never, on any circumstance, go beyond those doors. You know what's out there if you get stuck the night or if you get lost," Alby warned, and I nodded. I wanted nothing more than to avoid leaving the safety of the Glade. "Now, the only ones allowed in are the Runners— and before you ask, there are no tryouts for Running the Maze."

"Thank God for that," I muttered under my breath.

"You know, you're one of the very few Greenies who want nothing to do in the Maze," he commented before resuming his speech, "rule number two: Never harm another Glader. If you've a problem there's a Council and the Baggers to take care of it—" I refrained from asking about the possibility of my problem being with a Bagger or a member of the Council, "—And rule number three: You do your part. Ain't no slackers around here, there are days off but no vacation. Get that?" I nodded and he continued, "Today's your day off. Go around, watch what the others do closely. You'll be doing it as well soon. Try not to get into any sort of trouble. I'll send you Gally to discuss your place in a few."

I nodded and we parted ways, him towards the Homestead and me towards the Deadheads. My head was full of information and questions as I walked past the Slaughterhouse. There, something familiar caught my attention and I saw yesterday's dog. I smiled and made my way toward him. He was... chained? Why did they chain him?

I wondered whether I was allowed to go in, then again I didn't recall anyone saying I wasn't allowed to go around— Hell, even Alby told me to go around. So I was only starting by the Slaughterhouse. The door was open so I just got in, looking for anyone who could answer my question and maybe grant my request.

The smell inside was horrid. A mix of blood, raw meat, droppings, and filthy beasts. I subconsciously wrinkled my nose and tried not to yelp when I saw an enormous carcass that must've belonged to a cow or a bull. It was on a table that highly resembled human operating tables. I had long since abandoned trying to figure out where my background knowledge came from.

What appealed to my eyes was the incredible set of knives, machetes and such. All charted from the tallest ax to the tiniest pocket knife. Before I knew, I was reaching for one of the machetes. I raised it and it fit my hand like Hephaestus had designed it especially for me.

"Trying out for Slicer already?" A snarky male voice interrupted my contemplation.

I put the machete back in place and turned around to find a Glader who was only slightly taller than me, and I was short. "Er no, I'm starting tryouts tomorrow. I'm just here to ask why the dog is chained."

" _Bark_ is chained because Alby didn't like how it jumped at you yesterday," he spoke before reaching for one of the bloody aprons that were hung next to the door.

I spoke as he tied it around his waist, "You called the dog Bark?"

"Not me, but yeah. Ain't that funny?" He mused as he walked past me and took one of the smaller yet sharper knives.

"He's quiet... Yeah, that's funny," I admitted. "I'm Elizabeth by the way, I mean after the next Greenie comes."

He chuckled, already digging into the monstrous carcass, "I'm Winston. Keeper of the Slicers, and your potential next Keeper."

I snorted, "I highly doubt that. Say, can I untie Bark?"

He shrugged, "I don't see why not, the key's next to the light switch, left of the doorframe."

I smiled, "Thanks. See you later."

"Later, Greenie."

I took the key and opened the lock. Bark was more than happy to be free again, and I had to admit it was quite funny to see. I put the key back in place and, when I got back out, Bark was running toward me from God-knew-where with a filthy little thing that resembled a ball in his jaw.

*

After a few minutes playing with Bark, I saw Gally coming toward me.

As soon as he was within earshot, he glared at Bark, "What's it doing out?"

"I asked Winston if I could untie him. It was useless," I replied.

"Useless," he repeated in a scoff, "yeah, say that to Alby. Winston should know not to go against his word."

I shrugged, "I can take the blame. It was my idea anyway."

Gally raised his eyebrows before sighing, "If it does anything, I'm chaining it back."

I rolled my eyes, " _It_ is a he."

He snorted, "It's actually a she."

I raised my eyebrows, "Well that's news..."

"Anyway, Greenie. We're here to talk about your place," he stated before spreading his arms nonchalantly, "so where'd you want it?"

I blinked and smiled at him as we started walking around, "Really, I can pick the place?"

He nodded, "Yeah, but I'll have to make sure it doesn't stand in the way or doesn't bug the others."

"Yeah, it wouldn't be too clever to place it next to the Box or one of the Doors," I conceded, earning a nod of approval.

"That's right, Greenie," he spoke, taking a look around.

"Can I have it close to the Deadheads?" I asked timidly.

He turned toward the location and stopped walking. After a minute of reflection, he frowned, "We'll have to see with Alby if it doesn't obstruct anything we might need, but it's a good enough place. Think of another, in case he says no."

We spent nearly all afternoon discussing the location, the number of rooms and floors, and so on until we realized that we had missed lunch. I wasn't particularly hungry though, and neither was he, so we kept on talking about generalities for a while. He taught me some of the words in the Glader slang and told me I'd learn more with time. I rather enjoyed spending time with him, if I had to be honest.

*

Dinner came early. After I took a quick shower, I joined the table at which I recognized most people. The cook, whose name I learned to be Frypan, gave me a friendly greeting as I was getting served: stew. It smelled terrific.

I found a table where Winston, Clint, Minho, and Alby were sitting. I joined them, not wanting to make new acquaintances just yet.

"Evening," I greeted them as I sat on Winston's left.

"Evening, Greenie," Clint beamed, only then did I notice he had gray hair on his temples already.

"How was your Tour, today?" Minho asked with a smirk before eating a spoonful.

"Better than it started," I conceded, "I kind of like it here."

All but Alby gawked at me incredulously, "You're kidding?" Minho asked, his spoon halfway toward his mouth.

I frowned, "No? What's so wrong about liking it here?"

"You mean, apart from the suicidal part?" Winston ironized, earning a glare from Alby.

I pondered over his statement before filling my spoon, "I mean, yeah being trapped in a giant, monster-filled maze may suck but I like the organization around here. The fact that everyone has something specific to do, and that you're not all assholes," I added the last part with a teasing smirk at Minho as I ate. My eyebrows jumped in surprise, "And the food is great."

"Frypan's gonna be happy about that," Clint joked, spreading a smile over my face.

"Hey, what do you wanna start out with?" Winston inquired before adding, "For tryouts."

I pondered over the thought, "I think I'm gonna skip the Slaughterhouse, if I can. No offense, Winston."

"None taken, it's not suitable for a girl anyway," he snickered, making Minho chuckle.

I took this as a challenge and puffed my chest, "Seriously?"

"I mean, no offense, but you're most likely gonna end up cooking, gardening or slopping," Minho tried sounding compliant, but he only egged me on.

I raised a challenging eyebrow, "A month of you bringing me meals says I won't end up in there," I extended my hand over the table for him to shake.

He raised his eyebrows and seemed to enjoy the bet, "Two months, and you prepare the Runners' backpacks every morning."

He brought his hand up and I shook it, "Works only for gardening, slopping, and cooking."

"Deal," Minho acknowledged, probably already thinking he won.

I looked around the tables and saw Gally with the other Builders, I raised a hand to wave and he nodded curtly. I was still confused about his mood swings from when it was just the two of us and when there were other people around. I scanned the kitchen area for another familiar face, but to no avail.

"Where's Newt?" I demanded, turning back to our table.

"Medwing," Clint answered automatically.

My lips parted and my eyes widened in shock, "What?"


	3. 3 Tryouts

**3\. Tryouts** **  
**  
My lips parted and my eyes widened in shock, "What?"

"Newt is in the Medwing," Clint reiterated carefully, "he twisted his bad ankle, and he's on bed rest again for a while."

I blinked unintelligently, "How's he doing?"

Clint shrugged, "Pretty bugged about not being able to move around, otherwise he's okay. He'll get over it, shank."

"Has he had dinner?" I inquired, not feeling like eating anymore.

"Your boyfriend is asleep right now. He ate before everyone else," the Med-jack snickered, making Winston and Minho snort.

I looked away and gritted my teeth at the suggestion. I bit back my argument and carried on eating. I wanted to visit Newt but I probably ought to do it tomorrow, when everyone else was busy and I wouldn't get teased about being worried.

I finished eating and brought my plate back to the kitchen. Then I bid the guys good night, not without Alby reminding me to wake early for tryouts, and went toward Newt's room.

***

The morning after, I was woken by the Doors opening. I headed, half asleep, to the kitchen and had breakfast right after the runners left. I then waited by the Deadheads for everyone else to wake up, as I still wasn't sure where the Medwing was.

I was met by Winston, who greeted me and sat beside me on the bench. I kept my elbows on my knees, and my chin on the joined heels of my hands, as I contemplated which job I should tryout for first, and who was its Keeper.

I turned to Winston, "You busy today?"

He smirked, "I'm always busy. I'm a Keeper."

I smirked back, "I'm thinking I should get Slicing tryout over with today."

He frowned sarcastically, "The way you say it, one would think that you hate blood."

"I hate getting dirty. I'll start with the dirtiest jobs, then the most physical, and then those which fit me," I answered, thinking it up as I spoke.

He chuckled as he stood up and held out his hand, "If you will follow me, my Greenie. Your tryout as a Slicer shall begin now."

I took a look at my outfit: Black tank top and black combats. I wouldn't get too dirty in those, hopefully.

He led me toward the Slaughterhouse and hit the light switch. He reached for two of the five aprons and handed me one. I tied it around my waist, although the knot was in front for me. I looked around in search of gloves but I saw none. Great.

We then walked toward yesterday's carcass, half of which had disappeared. He explained that tonight was going to be a barbecue night and that there was meat and ribs to be chopped. I took the knife he indicated and he started on his instructions.

"Now what you're gonna do isn't too difficult," he stated, "I'm gonna chop the bones and you're gonna take the fat out of it. All I need to see is meat and bones in the end, all right, Greenie?"

I nodded, "Okay. I don't think I'm strong enough for bone chopping anyway."

He chuckled, "Good that. Now, slim it and work."

***

The least I could say, after three hours of cleaning ribs of fat, was that I was now certain I hated meat. I was _not_ going to eat any of the ribs or steaks I had seen today.

I was wandering around the Glade, after Winston told me I was free to go. I remembered where Newt was, and went to find Clint. After asking three Gladers, I was finally able to find the Medwing.

I knocked thrice and waited, "Look who's here?" Clint beamed before stepping aside, "Come in, he's awake."

I took a hesitant step in and saw Newt sat on one bed, his legs straight in front of him. Something in his expression told me he was trying to hide frustration. I gave him a shy smile and his features softened, almost instantly.

"Look who's on bed rest again?" I mused as Clint dragged a chair to Newt's bedside.

Only when I sat down did I realize how close to Newt I was. I was pretty sure Clint had done it on purpose, to try and prove his yesterday's theory.

"I'm fine. Clint's just being bloody paranoid," Newt groaned.

I raised my eyebrows, a smirk playing at the corners of my lips, "How about the truth?"

"The truth is," Clint spoke from somewhere behind me, "that if he walks on his leg again with his twisted ankle, I might have to amputate. Try and make him work this out, if you can convince the slinthead of anything."

My almost-smile vanished at the Med-jack's words, "Seriously?" I uttered as I turned to face him.

He raised his eyebrows at me, a bunch of clothes in his arms, "Do I look like I'm shucking kidding? Hey, I gotta get this to the Sloppers. Make sure the shank doesn't leave this bed, I'll be back in a few."

Before I could object, the door to the Medwing closed and let an awkward silence settle in. I took a look around the room, for the sake of something to do, and saw six or seven beds. Each separated by a wooden "wall" like the showers, save for the absence of doors. Out of this frame were two items: a locked closet, and a desk.

Three seconds after the door closed, Newt muttered, "Bloody slinthead's exaggerating. A painkiller would fix everything, that's what he doesn't seem to understand."

As soon as he uttered his last word, he made to stand up but I pressed my hand against his chest, "No way, you're staying in bed."

He chuckled, "Like you're gonna keep me from getting off this bloody—"

I raised a threatening hand over his bandaged ankle, "Don't make me do this, Newt."

He smirked, "You wouldn't."

"Don't test me. Just stay in bed until tomorrow, all right? To soothe our paranoia."

He leaned back against his badly propped pillows, " _Our_ paranoia?"

I felt heat rise to my cheeks when I realized what I had just said, "Well yeah, we're— we're all a team. The Gladers, I mean."

A smirk was nearly visible on his face as he spoke calmly, "I take it you're worried about me, aren't you Greenie?"

I cursed myself for being so see-through, "Well yes. Yeah, I'm worried about you and I'd be reassured if you followed Clint's instructions."

A soft smile took over his features. "All right then. I'll stay in bed."

I blinked several times and frowned, "That easily?"

He nodded once before lifting his forefinger, "I have one condition, though."

I sighed. I knew it. "What is it?"

"It is that you tryout as a Med-jack next," he requested before adding, "by being the one to bring me dinner tonight. After you shower though, because you have that funny smell."

He snickered at his last sentence, making me scowl, "That's because I wanted to be done with my Slicing tryout today. Of course, I had to choose a day when they're preparing a barbecue."

He laughed then, high and clear, before surveying me, "You tried out as a Slicer?"

His surprise at the fact rather annoyed me, and my scowl deepened, "What is this with you misogynistic guys, around here? Would you think I'm only good at cooking, gardening and slopping as well?"

His laughter died and turned into a slightly worried frown, "No. No, I think you can do anything you want. Why would you think that?"

I sighed and looked away, "It's just that bet with Minho, yesterday. It kind of bugged me, having to prove myself just because I'm a girl."

"You know, you can't really take Minho seriously. He sasses people half the time, and—"

"No, it was a condescending sort of remark. Like I'd end up there whatever I did," I complained before scoffing. That was typically girly.

He gave me a long look before placing his hand on my knee, "Well let's prove him wrong then, shall we?" I was nearly smiling when he added, "Preferably not as a Slicer though, all right?"

I exhaled sharply from my nose, "I couldn't agree more."

"So what'd you say? Med-jack next?" Newt perked up suddenly and I let a giggle escape.

Before I could answer though, the door nearly broke open to reveal a flustered Gally. I felt cold air hit my knee and realized Newt had retracted his hand. I saw, from the corner of my eye, one of Gally's fists ball up. His face was flushed and his eyebrows were raised.

In that second it took me to scan him, we heard hurried steps coming and Clint appeared in the doorframe, "Hey, they're only talking, Gal—"

My eyes bulged slightly at his statement, "Is... something wrong?"

"You tell me," Gally panted as he tried looking casual, leaning against Clint's desk, "first I hear you wanna tryout as a Slicer, of all things. Then that you're in the Medwing."

"Actually, you only got mad when I told—" Clint started to object but was cut off by Gally's glare. He cleared his throat, "Oh Newt stayed in bed, that's good."

I poked my tongue on the inside of my cheek doubtfully, "What's wrong with trying out as a Slicer?"

"It's not all right for a—"

"—for a girl," I cut him off, glowering at him. I stood up, "Fabulous. Just great. To think I was glad I wasn't sent in a Glade of only girls."

"You think such a thing exists? Girls are probably extinct by now," Clint snorted.

I rolled my eyes. I wanted to hurt Gally's ego, so I sighed mock-disappointedly, "To think I wanted to tryout as a Builder next. Shame, really."

He blinked several times and stood straighter, "Hey you can still—"

I turned away from him and towards Newt, who looked like he was trying to figure out the circumference of Jupiter, "No, it's okay. Building isn't suitable for a girl, you know. There are heavy loads and technicalities. Not to mention the intellectual part of it, girls are too jacked in the head for that." I saw Newt hiding a snicker, and I almost lost my flow.

"Hey I never said you couldn't tryout as a Builder," Gally sounded dumbfounded.

I turned to him, my glare icy, "Listen here, I _will_ tryout as a Builder. And a Bagger, Track-hoe, and any other job that guy Greenies tryout for. I'll start out with the Keepers who don't undermine me for being a girl. Gladly, there's no Running tryout, but Building is on my to-do list."

"What say you tryout as a Med-jack next?" Clint asked as he unlocked the closet.

"That's what I meant to ask you, yes I'd love to," I wanted to smile at him but I was too pissed at that moment. "I'll be having lunch for now. I hope there's no meat."

I had no such luck. When I saw the meatloaves, I thought I could feel my actual guts churn. Frypan was nice enough to heat some of yesterday's stew for me. I sat at an isolated table and ate slowly. My tryout for the day was done and the outcome certain.

I was poking at my food boredly when I felt someone sit in front of me. I didn't look up, but he spoke, "Hey Greenie."

I finally spared him a glance to find that young boy who had called me for the Closing. I gave him a tight, barely believable smile, "Hey."

"I'm Doug," he introduced himself, "and you're Elizabeth."

"Eli," I corrected him automatically before surveying him. He looked young, barely fourteen, "were you the Greenie before I arrived?"

He gave a hearty laugh of his not-yet-matured voice, "I was actually the first Greenie."

I frowned, "Wait, so that means you were here before everybody else, right?"

He shook his head, "No, that means I came here after the first month. The very first were a group of around ten."

I frowned and looked around, "Who..?"

He scoffed before tossing a piece of bread in his mouth, he spoke while chewing, "You won't find them here. One's busy, the other in the Maze, and the last in the Medwing."

My frown intensified, "You said they were around ten..." I popped the last of my bread in my mouth.

He swallowed, "At first. There's only three left of them: Alby, naturally, Newt, and Minho."

I narrowed my eyes before gulping the dry mouthful and asking, "Where are the others?"

He nodded towards the Deadheads, "Somewhere in there. Big klunk happened, we call it «The Dark Days»... you don't wanna know."

I pressed my lips together and considered how much I wanted to know: Not enough to insist, for now. I finished my plate and picked it up. He followed me. I would have been irritated by his presence if he didn't prove so valuable— informatively speaking. He could've written the _History of the Glade_ if it held any importance. Or _Greenies for Dummies_ , so that every month it'd be passed on to the new Greenie without having them— and me asking so many, and probably repetitive, questions.

I walked towards the Deadheads, where Alby had agreed for my cabin to be, with Doug. Not that I had any choice on the latter fact. I found the Builders, including Gally, working on the cabin.

It was against the West wall, although just a wooden floor for now. The surface was considerably more spacious than Newt's room, which confused me. Why bigger? I'd have to ask— I groaned inwardly. I'd have to talk to _Gally_ , misogynistic Gally, to understand why it was bigger.

The importance of the matter decreased considerably as I directed my steps towards the nearest bench. I sat, Doug following, and leaned back. It was peaceful; I could almost take a nap.

***

The next day, I was eating breakfast alone again when Clint sat in front of me. He had a secretive smile on his face as he folded his arms over the tabletop.

I swallowed, surveying him suspiciously, "Good morning...?" I trailed off.

"Good morning, Greenie. Ready to _really_ tryout as a Med-jack?" Clint asked a malicious glint in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes, "Isn't that what I did at dinner?"

He scrunched up his face, "Cleaning a patient's mouth with your tongue doesn't exactly classify—"

He didn't finish his sentence as I leaned over the table to punch his shoulder as hard as I could, at which he winced, "I gave him food, and we were talking. That's it. Now if you want me to tryout for your own personal account, I wouldn't be against it. I'm not in the mood to see new faces, today."

He rubbed his shoulder, a chuckle escaping his lips, "All right, come straight to the Medwing when you're done eating, then."

At that, he stood up and walked to his destination. My gaze followed him before eyeing my unfinished plate of omelet. I wasn't really hungry to begin with, but it didn't mean I should go without breakfast. I didn't know Clint would require another tryout for his job, so I thought I might as well stock up for the day.

I took my plate to the kitchen and apologized to Frypan for the waste. I was making my way towards the Medwing when a strong, dark-skinned hand fell on my shoulder.

"You're trying out as a Track-hoe today, Greenie," Alby announced darkly.

I narrowed my eyes at him and gestured towards my initial destination, "I promised Clint I'd tryout as a Med-jack today."

He scoffed, "Sounds likely, shuck-face doesn't wanna lose his bed."

"Huh? What does that mean?"

Alby flung his arm over my shoulders, digging my small frame into the ground with his weight, "That, Greenie, means you're the new attraction of the Glade—" I glared at him, first-in-command or not, "—with that bet that you made against Minho, people started betting as well. Some taking your side, and others Minho's. Never seen them so jacked about something so simple..." Alby trailed off.

His statement arose my suspicions as I asked slowly, while we were making our way towards the Garden, "Whose side are you on?"

For the first time, I saw him smile. It was not a mere extent of his lips, much more like a snicker. Alby was _amused_. I didn't know he knew about fun. He always seemed so business-y and never taking part in conversations... I was frankly surprised he still had a heart to joke around.

He exhaled sharply from his nose and, keeping his heavy arm on my shoulders, lead me forward, "Thought you would've guessed."

I gasped slowly as realization hit me. I extracted myself from his arm, "You're betting against me! I can't believe it; I thought you had some brains!"

He chuckled lightly, "Go on and tryout with Zart. His bet is with you, though, so it might help."

My mouth gaped, between outrage and amusement, "This is... outrageous! What'd you have to lose?"

His face was serious again, but still had the softness of fun, "My room. Newt takes my room for himself until your place is built, and I have to sleep outside. You don't know what it's like to sleep outside with those shuck-faces."

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms over my chest, "Oh boohoo."

He gave my back a friendly tap that almost made me topple and smirked, "Try it out, at least. Bet aside, it might suit you. You never know—"

I scoffed, "Oh sure. I'll make sure Newt gets your room for good."

He gave me a condescending glance, "Don't try to botch your tryouts, the Keepers will tell me everything."

I sighed, "Fine. Just go and have fun being a leader, I'll be over here growing lilies."

He walked away, shaking his head and probably chuckling. This side of him took me aback almost as much as the globalization of the bet. So it had turned into a Glade-wide bet and people had stuff to lose if I ended up where I wanted? My first feeling was offense at being so vulgarly objectified, until I realized that it meant at least half the guys in the Glade had faith I'd beat Minho. That afterthought warmed my heart as I made my way towards one of my supporters: Zart.


	4. 4 Deliberations

**4\. Deliberations** **  
**  
Thus the following days went, as I tried out for each Keeper. It altered between a job in my favor, bet-wise, and one in Minho's. I, being fair-play, didn't try to voluntarily be bad at gardening or cooking. But it seemed I was naturally bad at slopping. The Keeper, Jackson, said I was too slow. I called it being intricate, making him roll his eyes and walk away.

Zart said I was a little too harsh on the plantations and not strong enough to carry things like fertilizer or seed bags. His final word was that if I weren't good at anything else, he'd take me in and teach me some more.

Frypan, as excited as he was, had his bet against me: "solely to have you working with me, and not because I don't think you can do anything else," he claimed. I didn't quite know how to feel about that statement, so I just rolled with it. The food I prepared, as a test and for his lunch and mine —in case it wasn't all that good, he didn't want his kitchen's reputation to be tarnished by my inexperience— turned out to be delicious. Then again, pasta was always delicious.

"You can come and cook, from time to time," Frypan suggested as he put our plates in the dishwasher.

"But that would be against my own bet," I objected as I wiped the table of bread crumbs and tomato sauce stains.

"Nah," he let out indulgently, "not that way. But when you aren't busy at your job, you can always come and help out. No one has a fixed post in here; d'you think there's always something to be built, for example? No one's slacking."

I frowned before nodding slowly, "Oh okay... Yeah, I can do that."

And thus the conversation went, with Frypan turning out to be great company.

My tryouts as a Builder or as a Bricknick disappointed even me. The jobs were in my favor, but not their Keepers. Gally's bet was with Minho, he didn't explain why but I knew it was because he had some sort of grudge against me. I had yet to figure out why, but I wasn't complaining. He had undermined my abilities and that offended me.

My tryout as a Bagger didn't last very long, it was mostly Billy— the Keeper— explaining the ropes of the job to me. Without much surprise, his bet was against me. I didn't have to ask, his behavior and demeanor said it all. 

* * *

Today was finally the day I'd tryout as a Med-jack. It had been subconsciously delayed with all the fuss about the bet until I realized it was the one thing I hadn't tried out for.

At breakfast, Clint's hand grabbed my shoulder with an iron grip, "You're not running away from me, today, Greenie."

I looked up at him and rolled my eyes, "Really, Clint, it's been two weeks and you're still calling me Greenie?"

He tossed me a grin, "Yes, two weeks to go, ain't that great?"

I exhaled sharply from my nose, "Marvelous," I mused.

With that, he made me stand up, "All right, you've eaten enough. Let's get to work."

I had discovered that Clint's bet was in my favor, but his enthusiasm took me aback, "I have to take my plate to the—"

He waved a carefree hand, "That's the Sloppers' job, didn't anybody tell you?"

"Actually, no, they didn't. And why are you so shucking excited?"

He let his arm; lighter than Alby's, fall on my shoulders, "I had dibs on you as a Greenie, but you got distracted."

"Yeah, but what's the rush?" I asked again, dumbfounded.

Clint had an adorably excited glint in his eyes, "The Box came up today with supplies and one item of those is really interesting. Come and see."

We trotted, him impatiently and me curiously, towards the Medwing where a trunk that was highly similar to my pink one —this one was dark gray with a red plus on the lid— rested in front of the closet. Clint went directly towards it and flung the lid open carelessly. Newt was now on bed rest in Alby's room, so he wouldn't get disturbed by my tryout.

The trunk contained all sorts of medical equipment: a pack of rubber gloves, two stethoscopes, pop sickle sticks, a box full of one-use syringes and another of all types of medicine, endless rolls of bandages, band-aids, a few bottles of rubbing alcohol, pincers, scalpels, belts— belts?

I picked one up and scrunched up my face, "What the heck?"

A look of recognition passed Clint's face, "Oh, those must be for the Changing."

"Um, excuse me, the _what_?"

"When someone gets stung by a Griever, they must get the serum —which is already in the supply closet— and go through the Changing." Clint explained, "They suffer their heads off. I've never been through it but I treated all those who have, ever since I got here. It was always like second nature, you know? Knowing what to do when someone got injured."

I raised my eyebrows, "Yeah, it must be... Must be what you used to do before you were sent here."

He chuckled, "No one knows klunk about that, Greenie. But if someone comes in here saying they got stung, the first thing you do is get the serum. Then we used to get the Baggers to hold them down but now that we have this equipment, you and I won't need anyone else."

I gave him a lopsided grin, "You're talking like you're sure I'm gonna become a Med-jack."

He nodded, "I'm fairly certain you are a Med-jack for two particular reasons."

I leaned against the desk and folded my arms over my chest, looking down at him, crouched in front of the open trunk, "And what makes you say so?"

He started rummaging through the contents of the trunk as he spoke, "Well, I've been begging the shucking Creators for more medical equipment for months and they only sent it today. So that must mean you're more qualified than I am to be a Med-jack, as offending as it is."

"To be fair, I've no shucking idea what to do," I conceded with a shrug.

He snickered as he pulled out a blouse, "Aha! And the second reason is this."

He tossed me the blouse and I extended it in front of me. It was large and green, and looked cut for a female. What caught my attention was the name tag on the breast pocket. It said: «E. Tudor». I frowned. Tudor was the royal dynasty in England... The most remarkable royal to have reigned in that dynasty was Elizabeth I— it suddenly dawned on me that I didn't particularly _have_ to know all of that, unless...

My frown deepened as my hands grew moist on the soft fabric of the blouse, "My namesake..." I muttered to myself.

He smirked, "You're cut for the job, Eli. Or should I say, Your Royal Highness, Queen Elizabeth," he added with an exaggerated bow.

His gesture drew an involuntary chuckle from my pursed lips as I balled up the piece of clothing and threw it on his head, "Oh cut it out, Clint. Or should I call you Clinton?" I bobbed my head condescendingly, making him laugh out loud. "Seriously, though, this doesn't mean anything. The Creators have a sick sense of humor, and I think that's it. And don't mention this to the others— the blouse, I mean."

His laughter died down, but he kept his cheerful stance, "All right, your call. Now, let's start your training." 

* * *

Two uneventful hours later, I knew the function of every item in the Medwing and how to treat basic injuries in theory. Clint made me bandage his wrist, which was hypothetically broken, and told me where to tighten or loosen the cloth. I learned how to treat deep wounds to the muscle and what medicine to give for pain, fevers, colds, etc...

Surprisingly for me, and unsurprisingly for Clint, I immediately took to the job. Everything seemed easy and, as he had said, like second nature. I was seriously considering that we had been colleagues, in another life, when he snapped his fingers in front of me.

I jumped slightly on the desk chair, "What?"

"Grab bandages, cotton, rubbing alcohol, and your brain. You need to change Newt's bandage."

I didn't think much on his second sentence as I started gathering the items. Then it hit me, "Wait, what'd you mean _I_ need to change it?"

"You had your lessons, now's the time for an activity," Clint spoke in his most serious tone. His voice was void of his usual snark, malice, or underlying meaning.

"What if I screw it up?" I worried, subconsciously holding the alcohol and cloth tighter against my chest.

His face broke into an amused, breathy chuckle, "You won't, you did a great job with my wrist. Leg isn't very different, and I'll guide you. Plus, Newt is a very cooperative patient, he'll be glad to be my guinea pig."

I swallowed hard. I was really; honestly worried I'd end up hurting Newt. But if I wanted to become a Med-jack, which had been a growing aspiration ever since I started learning more about the job, I had to prove myself. I also had to have a professional look on the task at hand: I was treating Random Patient #1, not Newt.

We made our way upstairs, at the topmost floor in the room in the very back. It only had one, small window which gave a view on an unoccupied place of the Glade. Some grass, and one small bush. The room felt sad, all at once. Only then did I notice the two beds. Each on one side of the room, and Newt was sleeping on the one on the right, under the window. Sleeping, or just lying down. The lighting didn't provide much information.

The utter silence in the room was eerie and suggested a monumental amount of boredom dominating the space. I felt bad for Newt, for having to be on bed rest in here. I'd ask Clint to move him back in the Medwing, so he at least had someone to talk to during the day. What was more, I was fairly sure Alby wasn't very talkative at the end of the day...

"Hey, shank," Clint greeted casually before wrinkling his nose, "smells like Griever klunk in here, didn't you think of opening the window?"

Newt turned to him, glaring at first and then sighing, "It's stuck."

The curtness of his statement showed how very bugged he was about being stuck in this room, "Well you should've called," Clint chided, "your wound's gonna get infected in such a shucking temperature."

"Oh yeah, whose bloody idea was it to bring me up here?" Newt shot back, fists balling up and veins showing on his bare forearms.

"Sorry, mate. I needed her to focus for her tryout, and now's the practice part. She's gonna change your bandage," Clint announced before cursing under his breath at the window. Finally, he flung it open and a considerable amount of light got in, "much better."

Newt, though still obviously unnerved, gave me a small smile, "Haven't seen much of you, lately, Eli. How are the Keepers treating you?"

I set things down on his bedside table, "Pretty well, I'd say. I totally, honestly failed my tryouts for Slopping, Building or as a Bricknick. Gardening wasn't all that bad; Zart said I could learn eventually. And Billy doesn't sell his job very well, he was boring—" I kept rambling as I started undoing his bandage. Talking kept me from thinking about my surroundings too much, and so helped me forget exactly _whom_ I was treating, "—Frypan's really nice, though, and I sort of succeeded in his tryout. He said I could cook when I was free on my official job, which I accepted. Oh, and we got new medical equipment, it's great."

"Careful with the last layer, there's still some blood," Clint warned, and I obliged.

I, sat on Newt's bedside as he was sitting up, placed my knee under his leg for support and to keep my moves steady. I removed the last layer of cloth as carefully as I could, surprisingly not thinking about Newt but focusing on my work as a Med-jack.

Newt hissed under his breath as comparatively cold air hit his leg. I was flummoxed to discover that, even after weeks, his wound was still open. It should've started healing long ago. I frowned but didn't push it, I could feel there was a lot they weren't telling me about Newt's leg but I was still a Greenie. I wouldn't hesitate to speak my mind if his state worsened, though, because it'd be disastrous.

I tossed the old cloth aside and grabbed the cotton and alcohol, "Now's the fun part," I announced grimly, "it's gonna hurt and burn and everything in between, Newt, I'm not gonna lie."

He snorted nervously, "I don't understand your exact definition of 'fun', Eli."

I smirked, "Fun for me, shucking painful to you."

"You're jacked," he replied before gritting his teeth in anticipation.

I wetted a cotton ball and brushed off the caked-in blood. It made sickening sounds but I held on, thinking he was suffering much more than I and he hadn't made a sound.

I finished cleaning his wound, and now I could distinctly see a deep gash on the side of his calf, and dark purple bruises all over his ankle and shin. His so-called 'fall' must've been from at least sixty feet. I rolled my eyes inwardly and set on bandaging his leg and ankle.

"Don't tighten it so much at his knee, you'll cut off his blood flow," Clint indicated, "and careful with his ankle, it's still broken."

I nodded absently. He didn't exactly need to tell me that, but I believed it was his Keeper instinct taking over. I followed his instructions and was careful not to create any folds while wrapping my patient's leg.

When I was done, I placed his leg back on the bed after extracting my knee and sighed, relief audible in my breath, "There. You're all patched up, and you'd better stay in bed until Clint says otherwise."

"Thanks, Greenie. You're gentler than Clint, and I think that's what we brutes need," Newt stated, earning a tap on the back of his head, courtesy of Clint.

The latter smirked at me, "You're free to go, Eli. Just make sure you put things back in place, all right?"

I nodded, "Okay, I'll be in the kitchen. D'you shanks want anything?"

They both shook their heads, "Nah, I'll get Newt back in the Medwing and grab his lunch myself. Your day's off, by the way, and deliberations are tomorrow, right after breakfast in the Council. Be on time."

I nodded again, "Got it." 

* * *

Dinner finally came, after hours of boredom and loneliness. My morning tryout had been so instructive and entertaining that life felt dull in comparison. I nearly skipped to the dining area where I found the table at which Clint was eating. He had Minho, Winston, and Alby with him.

I sat in front of Winston, who proved to be enjoyable company throughout the two weeks my training lasted and on Clint's left, "Evening, shanks." I greeted, as I took habit to.

"How'd your last tryout go?" Minho asked, before adding, "What did you try out for, today?"

I grabbed the grilled cheese sandwich and took a bite. I spoke while chewing, "Med-jack. I did all right."

Minho was gonna retort when Clint interrupted him, "She did more than all right. She's cut for the job, even the Creators know that." I glared at him at that, surely he wasn't gonna mention the blouse, "They only brought the equipment I've been begging them for on her tryout day, with two doctor blouses."

Minho raised a doubtful eyebrow, "Really? Just because her name's on some stuff, doesn't mean she's cut for the job."

I snorted, "You're just scared of losing your bet. It felt easier to me than anything else I tried out for."

"You're pretty good in a kitchen too, just saying," Frypan's voice rumbled behind me.

I elbowed him as he sat on my left, "Slim it, Fry. I'm not becoming a cook. Now, tell me," I spoke, turning to the ever-silent Alby, "how are the deliberations gonna go? What if more than one Keeper accepts me?"

He raised his eyebrows, somehow surprised I had addressed him, "Well there's grades, to be sure. And you can choose out of your highest grades which will be your primary function."

I nodded before nudging Frypan, "This sandwich is awesome, by the way."

"Thanks. You already have a pretty good grade in my subject, young Greenie," he mused.

"Thank you, but it wouldn't play in my favor if your grade were the best," I countered, having another bite.

"I still think you'd do us good to help out in the kitchen from time to time, you know your klunk," Frypan complimented me.

I was really bad at receiving compliments, and so I diverted the topic, "Yeah, I'd much rather see Minho dressed as a cute Japanese waitress."

He raised his eyebrow at me, "First off, I'm Korean, thank you very much. And second, that wasn't part of the bet."

I snickered, "It's how I'd imagine you anyway. Although, I'd imagine you with shaved legs."

He scowled at me while the others laughed their butts off, "Really, Eli?"

I stuck my tongue out at him, "Loosen up, Minho, I'm joking. I don't even think I'd need you to do that, just to learn not to underestimate me."

He smirked, "Don't try to reassure me just yet. We'll see tomorrow who needs a pat on the back."

I shrugged, "Just wanted to spare you the blow of the public loss."

"Ohhh," Winston not-so-articulately commented.

I didn't want the conversation to become a wily measuring contest between Minho and me, so I extended my hand towards him, "You've played fair during this bet."

He bore a self-satisfactory smile as he slowly shook my hand, making sure to engulf it in his large one, "So have you."

With that, we finished eating and diverted the topic to banalities until it was time to go to sleep. I bid them good night and went up to my temporary room.

Only when I was dressing for bed did I really start feeling nervous about the Council's grades. Then again, I had only learned about the grades at dinner, but still... I went to sleep in my tank top and no pants, as they suffocated me in my sleep these last few nights. This was probably risky in case someone got in at random, but up until now, they always knocked.

Tomorrow would be another, and hopefully a better day. 

* * *

Breakfast went like a dream, or a hallucination. I felt like my moves were guided by someone else. I was only fully conscious when I got into the Council. It was a wooden cabin, much like the one the Builders were working on for me —they were nearly done with it, a day give or take—. The only furniture in the room were the ten or so chairs, with one right in front of them, and a table in the corner.

Nearly every chair was occupied, the three in the middle remained empty until Alby and Minho came in and occupied two of them. It had me guessing that Newt was supposed to occupy the third one. When all Keepers were present, Alby stood up and gave a severe look around.

He pointed directly at me, "You aren't allowed to speak unless asked a direct question." I nodded, "Good that. Now, I declare the Gathering begun. Winston, you can begin by saying her strengths, weaknesses, and grade out of ten."

He sat back down and Winston stood up, "Our little Green bean over here is a quick learner. She's intricate and does what she's told. Her weaknesses are two: one, she's as slow as one can get. Two, she kept whining about the smell, or hating meat and fat. And, no offense Greenie, but that's shucking girly." Minho snickered at that and I gave him a scowl. Winston carried on, "But despite that, she did all the work I gave her until the end, so she's got guts. My grade for her is seven out of ten."

Alby wrote it down on the notepad I hadn't noticed was in his hand before nodding towards Zart, "Good that. Now you, is she a Track-hoe?"

Winston sat and Zart stood up, "Like he said, she learns quick and does what she's told. Her weaknesses are that she's too hard on the crops and she's not strong enough. Six out of ten."

Again, Minho smirked at the feminine weakness and I scowled. The Keepers rolled, enlisting my strengths and weaknesses and grading me. I had disastrous grades in Billy and Gally's categories, which pleased Minho, but my two out of ten in slopping had me giddy.

I kept myself from smiling too widely when Frypan's turn came. He stood up and smirked directly at me, when the others addressed Alby directly, "You, my friend, are an excellent cook. I have nothing to say except that you deserve a ten out of ten."

Literally everyone in the Council gaped at him. I was scandalized and, as I went to check, Minho was smiling from ear to ear, his eyes nearly closed. I seethed. How dare he give me a ten? He knew I didn't want to become a cook, why did he—? I wanted to scream, or punch him in the jaw. Preferably both. He was ruining my chances of becoming a Med-jack, the bet was completely forgotten. All I wanted was for Clint to fix it up. I gave him a pleading look and he closed his eyes briefly, telling me he had the situation under control.

Alby raised a doubtful eyebrow, "You sure she deserves a ten? The bet must have no effect on the grades you give, Fry."

"Dude, you didn't taste her shucking food. This girl can cook, and I'd be glad to have her 'round," Frypan spoke with conviction, feeding my wish for the ground to open and engulf me.

Alby sighed, "I'll put nine and a half, ten is unrealistic. Who's left?"

Fry sat down and Clint not only stood from his chair but walked stand in the middle of the room, "Fellow Gladers and Keepers," he started, "this new Greenie is different from the others. Not just because she's a girl, but because I literally didn't have to teach her anything. She could guess everything I was going to tell her and she changed Newt's bandages better than I did. Alby, I know you think a ten out of ten is unrealistic, but she really deserves it. You know I know my job, but let me tell you with certainty that she knows it better than I do. It's a ten out of ten for me."

By then, Alby was pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, "Clint, we get it. You're in love with the girl—" this earned him a glare from Clint and me, "—but you have to give accurate grades, for shuck's sake. I said the bet—"

"Screw the bet!" Clint bellowed, "Of all Greenies you sent me, she's the best one. I'm serious, Alby."

Alby then stood up, which made Clint sit back on his chair, "Okay, okay. Ten? Then Frypan's ten comes back as well, it's fair enough." He turned to me, "The choice is yours now. You can choose between the Kitchen or the Medwing, since apparently, you're perfect at both. Your next best grades are in Slicing and Gardening. The others, you're klunk at. Got it?" I nodded, "Good that. Now, what'd you choose?"

I stood up and placed my hands in my pockets, I was unreasonably nervous, "I personally think that my tens are undeserved. Fry, the pasta was overcooked and the sauce not salty enough. Clint, I still needed your instructions when I was working on Newt. I'd be happy to work at both, and whichever I choose, I'll always help out in the other. But I'm more inclined to choose to be a Med-jack."

With that, I sat back down and was pleased to see an approving smile on Minho's face. I smiled back at him; ignoring the daggers those who bet against me were sending me— save for Frypan, who looked happy for me. Alby and Clint then stood up in the middle of the room, the former motioning for me to join them. I walked shakily towards the two and waited.

Clint extended his hand towards me and I shook it, he didn't let go as he spoke, "Elizabeth, you are now a Med-jack. As such, you must swear to always do all that's in your power to tend to, heal, and save the Gladers in need."

I gave his hand a firm, and as manly as I could muster, shake, "I swear."

He smirked, "Good."

Then I turned to Alby. He extended his hand and I grabbed it, "Lift your other hand and repeat after me. I, Elizabeth."

I raised my left hand, "I, Elizabeth."

"Vow never to go unauthorized beyond the Maze Doors." he continued, and I repeated, "And never to bring harm to a fellow Glader. And to always do my work to the best of my ability."

After I repeated what he told me to, I shook his hand, stronger than Clint's, and gave him a serious smile, "I swear."

His face split into a grin, "Welcome to the Glade, Elizabeth."

And then, one after the other, every Keeper shook my hand and welcomed me. It was mostly a simple greeting: some cold, others friendly. Gally and Billy's weren't all that friendly. Winston, Frypan, and Zart's were as cheerful, as warm, and as welcoming as they could get.

At last came Minho. He towered over me and smirked, as though he had just won his bet. I raised a challenging eyebrow at him, shooting him my most gloating and victorious grin.

He extended his hand, "Congratulations, Eli. And welcome to the Glade."

I smirked, "Thanks, Minho. Oh, by the way, I don't eat meat."

He raised his eyebrows, seemingly impressed, "You had to bring it up, didn't you?"

I shrugged my shoulders helplessly, "Had to make sure you learned your lesson, didn't I?"

He gave me what I suspected to be a voluntarily too-strong pat on the back, "Ahh, can't hold it against you. You won, I'm game."

I found it suspicious that he admitted it so blatantly in front of the others. I eyed him doubtfully, "Thanks... I guess." 

* * *

The rest of the day was spent with the other Gladers randomly congratulating me on my way to and fro. Since there was virtually nothing to do in the Medwing, apart from giving Newt lunch, which Clint volunteered for, I helped out in the kitchen. Frypan was ecstatic, and the other cooks kept tossing me grins.

Oddly enough, today felt much like my first day except that the looks I got were welcoming and not insanely curious and disbelieving. I quite enjoyed bonding with the Gladers as an official member among them. For the first time since I had come up the Box, I was happy. 

* * *

Two weeks had passed since I was attributed my function as a Med-jack. I was rarely called 'Greenie' anymore, which pleased me infinitely. I had grown close to Clint, Newt, Winston, Frypan, and Minho. The latter, I only ever saw at dinner. While every other runner had a day off of work, Minho ran the Maze every day of the week and it bothered me some because he'd end up overworking himself at some point.

My cabin, near the Deadheads, was finished the day after my Gladership was validated. It was a room leading to another, the first of which had a large window. The second room was my bedroom. It had a closet, a desk, a chair, and a hammock. It was rudimentary but more than enough to me. I thanked the Builders, most of whom were giddy, and moved in. Although, I found out I rarely slept in my room since I spent most nights in the Medwing. One of the Sloppers was sporting a nasty cold and I volunteered to check on him during the night.

Newt was off bed rest one week later, but I insisted he used his crutch for another fortnight until I changed his bandage again. Clint had passed him on to me as a patient, and I took this as a challenge. It didn't feel much like it, though, since I always reacted on instinct when confronted with a new patient.

I was now having breakfast with Minho, Ben, and two other runners: Sam and Bobby. I took to waking up early for the simple reason that I always fell asleep earlier than the others. We were eating silently when the alarm rang.

It shot a pang through my chest. I was feeling the anxiety and anticipation of coming up the Box again— the Box! That not only meant a new Greenie was coming up, but also that it had been a month since I got here.

I raised my eyebrows in my sleepy haze, "Greenie?"

Ben gave me a malicious smirk, "I'm hoping for another girl."

I gasped, mock-outraged, and tossed some food at him, "How am I supposed to take this?"

Minho chuckled while chewing, "He was hoping to have a chance with you at first, but when he saw you had more guts than the last runner he—"

"Aren't you talking a little too much?" Ben asked, disgruntled.

Minho snorted, making Sam and Bobby snicker, "Dude, you tried hitting on her and failed miserably."

I rolled my eyes. They did that a lot. At times they'd start talking about me as though I weren't there. Moreover, I wasn't feeling very well those last few days. I'd be irritable, easily hurt, and crave weird types of food. My knowledge as a Med-jack told me that I'd be on my period in a few days and my hormones were wrecking me. There were even afternoons where I'd wait for the runners to get back solely to be able to stare at their athletic physiques. This last fact was the most embarrassing part of menstruation.

Now, though, I was unnerved with them. Plus, I was curious to see the new Greenie. I wanted to check whether I was being sent a roommate or not.

I stood wordlessly and made my way quietly towards the still-blaring Box. The sound of the alarm was less amplified, when not in the Box. Remembering the momentum of the contraption, shooting me up to this exclusively male world, gave me a wave of nausea. I bit it back and, when finally next to the Box, crouched down and waited. I was shortly joined by still-sleepy Gladers. The Box was coming up earlier than when I arrived, I thought. They started drawing hypotheses.

"What'd you think?" One asked.

"No shucking idea, hoping for another girl, though," another answered before receiving a tap on the back of the head.

"It's the Box, slinthead," growled Winston, who had been the one to deliver the tap, "not a pregnancy."

"What say you, Eli? Girl or boy?" Alex, a Builder, asked me.

I looked up at him, "I honestly have no idea..."

"Even if it's a girl, you'll always be special," he seasoned his compliment with a wink that I scoffed at.

"Ahh, there it comes," Newt announced, standing back and leaning on his crutch.

When the Box stopped, the ground shook ever so slightly. Or maybe because I was crouching too close. The mechanic doors opened under the gates, which Minho and Gally opened to reveal —to general disappointment— a boy. He was maybe seventeen, and even from where I was standing he looked taller than the average Glader. He had dark skin and a terrified look in his eyes. 

* * *

The new Greenie's welcome was very different from mine. After the initial wave of disappointment had washed over them, the boys started to torment the taller one. They only stopped when the Maze Doors opened, signaling to them that this was like any other day and that they had to go to work.

I was still beside the open Box, helping to sort out the supplies. Minho being in the Maze, it was Alex and Gally who were unloading.

"Med-jack," Alex called, bringing a box up.

I reached down and grabbed it, "Thank you," I drawled. This was a casual ritual, since I helped with the weekly supplies as well.

My mistake was to open the box right there, in the middle of the Glade. It contained—

"Chocolate?" Doug, who had been standing behind me, grimaced.

Alex's head poked out, "Who got chocolate?"

"Oh shuck," I murmured before closing the small box again.

"Why the hell is it destined for the Medwing?" Doug asked, his face scrunched up.

"Heard you talking about the Medwing," I was ever so thankful for Clint's presence. I was sure he'd understand.

"The first time the Creators send chocolate, it's for the Medwing. That's sexist, shank, I'm tellin' you," Alex complained, dusting off his shirt after getting out of the now-empty Box.

Clint frowned, and then sent me a questioning look, "Chocolate? Did you..?"

I frowned and pressed my lips together, "Just take it to the Medwing, I'll explain." I muttered, handing him the small box and standing back up.

Just then, I felt a sharp pain in my lower abdominal section. I crouched again, letting out a long, pained breath. I felt Clint crouch next to me and put his hand on my shoulder. His temperature was much colder than mine and it lanced a sharp pain running through my back. This time, I wasn't able to keep in the low wail.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Clint asked.

I shook my head, "I'm okay, I'm okay. I know what this is—"

And this was my last memory until I woke up in the Medwing.


	5. 5 Greenie

**5\. Greenie** **  
**  
"What'd you think this is?" Newt's voice asked, jolting me up.

If what I felt was period cramps, I needed to wear a pad as soon as humanly possible. I sat up and looked around frantically. I knew I kept one of the packs I found in my trunk in here, in case a situation similar to this one happened.

"Hey, hey, you're staying in bed," Clint warned, using what little authority he had over me in his tone.

"Clint, I know I'll stay in bed this whole day but I need to do something quickly. And I need to do it privately," I added with a pointed look at the both of them.

"No way, what if you pass out again?" Newt objected, making me roll my eyes.

"Guys, I'm not sick. I'd spare you the details but this is something exclusively feminine," I raised my eyebrows, trying to make them understand. They didn't. I sighed, "Come on, I don't wanna have to go all the way to the cabin, don't you trust me?"

I had asked the latter question more to Clint, who nodded hastily, "Okay... Okay, don't be too long and I want an explanation."

"Thanks, and yeah but you need to be full-Med-jack on this one." I requested and he nodded.

Newt was still surveying me doubtfully, "You sure you're all right, Eli?"

I closed my eyes briefly before nodding indulgently. He didn't know, it wasn't his fault, "Yes, and in approximately five days I'll feel better."

Clint's eyes then shone in recognition, "Oh, so that's what it is... We'll leave you to yourself, I'll bring you lunch later. Want anything special?"

I shook my head, "Nothing, thanks. I—"

"You need to eat, Eli," he objected.

I closed my eyes briefly to keep myself from snapping at him, "Clint, what I really need right now is to be left alone."

He nodded, "Fair enough, I'll be right out if you need anything."

I stood up painstakingly, "Good that. I'll probably be fine by dinner, I'll join. Tell me about the new Greenie, all right?"

"Will do. The chocolate is locked in, you have the key," he spoke right before he closed the door. 

* * *

I wished I had been right. After one pill, I was still feeling the prodding pain in my lower abdomen. It wasn't unbearable, though, and I didn't want the others to think I was just a weak female. So I gathered all my strength and patience, and got out of the Medwing at sundown.

"Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," Winston greeted me, overplaying it for some reason.

I smiled at him tiredly, "I fell sick, but I'm feeling good enough to walk around now. I'm gonna grab food and join you so you can tell me all about the new Greenie."

I didn't wait for his answer as I went to the bottom of the queue. I was two Gladers away from getting my food when a tall frame bumped right into me, hitting my already painful chest and making my breath hitch. I rubbed my collarbone area as I winced.

"Oh, sorry," I looked up to find the newest addition to the Glade. He had an expression of worry, "Did I hurt you?"

I frowned up at him, "Nothing I wasn't feeling before, it's okay. I'm Eli, by the way."

He smiled at me. He looked kind. "I'm Jeff."

"Welcome to the Glade, Jeff. I'm going to sit with Winston over there, and whoever's with him. Join us and save me a seat, all right?" I suggested, flashing him a smile. I was pretty sure I was the first one to be kind to him.

He grinned back and scratched the back of his neck nervously, "Okay."

With that, he left. I kept waiting in line for another minute when I felt a familiar grip on my shoulder.

"I got your food, come on," Clint nodded towards the nearly full table I had indicated to Jeff.

"Clint, I'm not dying," I objected calmly.

"You are as long as I don't know how to treat that," he stated sternly.

"That's because there isn't anything to treat, it's normal," I countered, thinking of folding my arms over my chest but deciding against it.

He pursed his lips, "What if something goes wrong?"

I grabbed my plate from his hands, "Thanks, Clint. I like your optimism, by the way."

I ignored his scowl as I went to sit in front of Winston, with Jeff, Minho, and Newt. Clint joined us shortly after. Dinner was rather nice, actually, and I almost didn't feel any pain. That was, until the pill I had taken before leaving the Medwing stopped having effect.

They were prodding pains, at first, like I was being poked from the inside out. And then it felt like I had swallowed one of Winston's machetes. I tried ignoring the cramps at first, but it got to a point where I had to rest my forehead on the tabletop and hug myself. I could hear things happening around me but it felt detached, like I didn't belong to the scene.

Clint tsk'ed, "Eli, go to the Medwing."

"Why?" Minho's voice asked before I could feel his gaze on me, "What happened to her?"

I wanted to speak for myself, but all that came out was an unintelligible moan. Clint sighed, "She needs to be in bed, get something for the pain."

"Pain?" A muffled voice which could've belonged to any of the guys asked.

I hated myself for what I was going to ask, but I had to. I gathered my strength and squeezed out, "Help me get to the Medwing."

I had expected Clint to respond to my request, but the grip that stood me up was stronger, rougher, yet trying to show softness it didn't have. The scent told me it was Minho. He had only just showered, and I could smell the same residual scent of his shampoo. Why did I notice much more of him right now? Hormones had to be responsible for my sudden awareness of Minho.

When I heard the door of the Medwing close, I tried extracting myself of his grip but he silently insisted on leading me towards the nearest bed. My eyes were still closed as I clenched my jaw and fists. The pain was all around the small of my back and my lower abdomen, and as soon as I felt myself on the bed I curled in foetal position.

"Where are the painkillers?" Minho spoke to me for the first time since dinner.

I reached for the key around my neck and handed it to him, "Silver box..." I let out, my voice barely more than a whisper as I tried to keep my wails in.

He wordlessly fetched the pills and handed one to me with a cup of water. I sat up, painstakingly, and accepted the medicine. Even though it was most likely room temperature, the water felt ice cold in my burning insides. I grimaced as I placed the cup on the bedside table and curled again.

"Need anything else?" Minho asked, although it sounded like he was trying to keep concern out of his voice.

I nodded, subconsciously hugging my lower half, "Blanket. I'm freezing."

After I felt more heat around my body, I heard the chair drag towards my bedside. I wanted nothing more than to be left to suffer alone. It'd go away eventually, and I'd be able to fall asleep; but I didn't want anyone, Minho least of all, to see me in such a state of weakness. All the more reason when this pain was solely because I was a girl.

"Anything else?"

I closed my eyes and shook my head, "Nothing. Thank you, you can go."

"You know, you don't have to act so tough around me. Everyone has a moment of weakness," Minho tried to reason with me.

"I'd love to talk about how pain is normal," I grimaced through the effort of speaking, "but I can't even think straight right now. We'll talk tomorrow, all right?"

After one silent second, I heard a sigh and him standing up, "Get well, shank. You're horrible when you're sick."

I chuckled despite myself, "You should see yourself."

He responded with a chuckle of his own, "See you tomorrow." 

* * *

Thankfully, in the morning, I wasn't feeling any more pain. I woke up and fixed everything in the Medwing before going to the kitchen. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I wanted everyone else to see I was doing better.

"Look who's here," Ben greeted me with a smirk, "heard you were sick?"

I shot him a tired smile, "Not anymore, don't worry."

"You sure?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

I nodded, "Yeah. Go and find us a way out, will you?"

He chuckled as he stood up. The Doors weren't open yet but he was running late, "I'll see you at dinner, Eli."

I raised a hand in farewell, "Come back in one piece." 

* * *

Throughout the day, I realized that the news of my 'sickness' yesterday had travelled across the whole Glade. I felt ashamed at first, because it would've slowed things down around the Glade, but I soon discovered that my fellow Gladers were more worried than annoyed at my uselessness of yesterday. Even Gally went out of his way to, quite harshly, tell me not to do too much work.

I decided I'd be on kitchen duty today, since the Glade seemed healthy and I wanted more to do than the inventory of the Medwing. I got in the kitchen, where Frypan and Wyck —one of his sous-chefs— were already working on lunch.

"Hey, Fry," I greeted him somewhat cheerfully. I had found my usual demeanour and was quite glad about it.

"Eli," he chimed, "heard you fell sick, you better now?"

I nodded, grinning, "Yeah, I'm all patched up now. What can I do?"

He checked the time on the clock above the table he was working on, "The Slicers must be done with today's delivery. Mind bringing the meat?"

I fetched an apron which I started tying around my waist, "Not at all. I'll be back in a few."

I made my way towards the Slaughterhouse, Bark on my heels, when I caught a glimpse of the new Greenie —I'd forgotten his name— reaching my destination a few yards ahead. I didn't pay it much heed until I arrived to find him and Winston in a rather... intimate position. Winston's hand was placed over Greenie's, and it was no instructive gesture. I had the uneasy feeling that I was intruding on something intimate. I hesitated on whether I should go and come back later, but I stepped on a twig and cracked it.

"Oh, hey," I greeted awkwardly, "sorry guys, I—"

"Hey, you're here for kitchen's delivery, right?" Winston cut me off, stepping away from the taller boy.

I nodded, eager to leave this tense scene, "Yeah, I'll take it there—"

"Jeff will help you, you were sick yesterday," Winston countered.

"No, Jeff can stay here with you. I'm on medication so nothing hurts," I objected as he showed me to the basin full of ribs of whichever beast he had recently slaughtered.

"It's okay, I can do it," Jeff volunteered, already lifting the basin.

"Do you remember where the kitchen is?" I asked doubtfully.

He nodded and left Winston and me in an awkward silence which he broke, "I uhh... He— He wanted to see—"

I closed my eyes briefly as I lifted a hand to silence him, "Winston, what people do is none of my business. Although if one day you're in the mood to braid my hair, eat French fries, and talk about boys, you know where to find me." I added with a smirk.

His face contorted from hesitation to confusion, to realization and finally to disgust, "Hey, just because I have different tastes than other shanks, doesn't mean I have girly interests."

I chuckled and gave his arm a friendly punch, "I'm joking. Although not about talking part. No offense, but I had my suspicions about you."

He frowned, "How?"

I rolled my eyes, "Out of every guy my age or older than me in here, you're the only one who has never tried flirting with me. Wow, now that I actually say it, it sounds shucking narcissistic!"

His face broke into a chuckle, "You think I should've tried?"

I shook my head, "Not necessarily. I mean, it was nice to hang out with someone who didn't consider me like fresh meat at some point."

He wriggled his eyebrows, "Now that you say it..."

I scoffed and pushed him lightly, "Slim it!" I hissed, laughing despite myself.

He laughed as well before frowning again, "Wait, when you say talking about boys... Does that mean you have someone in sights?"

Laughter died down in my throat as I gave it a thought for the first time, "Good question..."

"Because um... the way you and Minho went alone in the Medwing yesterday," Winston seemed to feel uneasy as he grimaced, "you know, shanks talk..."

Just then, realization hit me, "Wait, so you people think that Minho and I...? No! No, not at all. I mean he's attractive and all, but... I don't have him in sights."

"Yeah, he is... And there's also a lot of tension between the two of you," Winston smirked before walking towards where they kept cattle.

With that, he left me alone to ponder over whether I was wholly attracted to Minho or not... I mean, attractive was clearly an understatement. Minho was gorgeous. My favorite sight of his was when he got back from the Maze, jogging and breathing rather heavily. His chest heaving up and down under his shirt, and the light sheen of sweat over his face, neck, and collarbone. All of those made me pause in my tracks every day, at around seven.

This sudden realization brought about a feeling of tense anticipation regarding his return this evening. I bit my bottom lip as I made my way across the Glade. This was because of Winston's suspicions and my hormones. I wasn't attracted to Minho— I _couldn't_ be attracted to him. He... He was misogynistic and cocky... I nearly groaned in frustration when I tried finding flaws in him but couldn't.

How wrong could I be? 

* * *

At around six thirty, I hid in the Medwing. This was the time around which Minho got out of the Maze and went into the Map Room. Fifteen minutes later, he'd go shower and I could get out. Which I did.

I was strolling around the still-open East Door when I noticed unusual movement at the bottom of the corridor. My first thought was that Grievers were released earlier than usual, and I took an involuntary step back. But upon squinting and blinking several times, I could distinguish a human shape.

From afar, it looked like a runner limping and struggling to get to the Glade on time. It had been ten minutes since Minho had got out of the Map Room, so I assumed that last runner still had five minutes. I looked back at the surprisingly not busy Glade. Baggers were in the kitchen, having dinner already.

I shuffled on my feet. On one hand, as a Glader, I wasn't allowed to go out and help him. On the other hand, as a Med-jack, I _had_ to go and help him. To do all which was in my power to save him— whoever he was.

I took another look around, anticipation building in my chest and tingling in my whole legs. My heart was hammering in my chest. Surely, I was going to find another solution. I couldn't go into the Maze, even though it was just the first corridor and not remotely dangerous since we still had around four minutes.

Just then I realized. It had been a whole minute and the runner had barely made it three feet towards the Glade. He was still yards away. In four minutes, the Door would close and he'd still be too far away. I couldn't let him die, I had to help him.

Without thinking further, I bolted into the Maze. I sprinted as fast as my legs would carry me and slid on the ground as I reached whom I recognized as Ben. His left ankle was swollen and twisted at a nasty angle, he was sweating and panting like a bull.

"What the shuck are you doing here?!" Ben bellowed.

"Saving your life," I answered automatically as I flung his left arm over my shoulders, "gonna need you to skip so we can reach the door in time."

"We've only got three minutes," he countered, fear etched into his eyes.

"Then slim it and run, I'll heal your leg later, just lean on me and run," I rasped, draping my arm around his waist and trying to lift him slightly off the ground. Who was I kidding?

I pushed him, using all my strength to make sure he didn't fall. Ben pressed on my shoulders each time he jumped. Thankfully, his skips were separated by around four feet, so in two minutes we were in the Glade. Ideally, I would've taken him directly to the Medwing; but with my period and restless night, added with the sudden exertion, we ended up collapsing on the ground, breathing heavily.

"You're jacked," Ben let out through panting.

"You're alive," I bit back.

"You shouldn't have—"

 _Boom._

The Door started closing then, and I sat up. I looked around to find Henry jogging towards us.

"You went into the Maze?!" He bellowed, glaring down at me.

"I saved his life. It's my shucking duty as a Med-jack, now help me take his ass to the Medwing," I spat as I stood back up.

"Rule number one, Eli!" Henry shouted, out of his wits.

 _Boom._

I glared at him, "We're not dead. It's done now, it's not like I went exploring!"

Our short yet loud argument had attracted an audience, among whom Minho who asked, "What're you two yelling about?"

Henry turned to him, red-faced, "She went into the Maze!"

By then, nearly everyone was gathered around us. Every single Glader who had heard Henry was gaping at me. Minho and Alby were the only ones who didn't look shocked, for the former looked impressed and the latter angry.

Alby's first words hurt me more than yesterday's period cramps, "Put her in the Slammer."


	6. 6 Slammer

**6\. Slammer** **  
**  
 _Alby's first words hurt me more than yesterday's period cramps, "Put her in the Slammer."_

"What?" I nearly yelled at him as Billy was already coming close to me.

"You broke rule number one," Alby said sternly, "so you're in the Slammer until your Gathering takes place."

My lips parted as I felt Billy grabbing my arm harshly, "It'd all go well if you didn't put up a fight."

My shocked expression turned into one of disgust, "It's no news that you're a pig, Billy, but can you not?"

His response was to shove me forward under the gaze of everyone whose esteem I held high. I tried my best to look dignified, but he made sure to shove me forward every now and again, to press his point.

The Slammer was somewhere North. Much like the Map Room, it was a small room of concrete with a door as old as time. When Billy opened the door to it, I saw one chair inside and nothing else. When no one was watching, he pushed me roughly inside and locked the door.

Aside from Alby's scrupulous following of rules which had me perplexed, I was now seething at Billy's obvious enjoyment of the situation. So much so that my first action as a prisoner was to kick the chair from one side of the cell to another, letting out a frustrated growl in the process. 

* * *

Time in the Slammer seemed to slow down. Especially since I had no shucking visitors. Newt had explained to me that visits were allowed when a prisoner was put in the Slammer, and I thought my so-called friends would like to know my side of the story.

It wasn't until dinner time that I heard a familiar voice nearby. Clint. My lips formed a weak smile. So he hadn't forgotten about me. I scrambled up from the floor —I tried proving a point by not using the chair— and dusted my pants. I was in desperate need for a pad change and I hoped he was thoughtful enough to bring me that.

"Five minutes," Billy's voice growled as I heard him unlocking my door.

Clint, being shorter and overall smaller than Billy, only glared at him, "This isn't a friendly visit, I'm here as a Med-jack. She's my patient."

"Ten minutes then."

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms over my chest, "So shucking generous. Remind me not to write you in my will."

"I see you didn't lose your sense of humor," Clint commented as he got in, bearing one of his medical kits.

"Please tell me you brought me a pad," I pleaded as we both sat, cross-legged on the floor.

"I brought better," he murmured, as though desirous not to be heard by Billy, "you're allowed dinner but not what I brought you. I suggest you eat it first."

I nodded as I looked inside the box, "How's Ben? What are the others saying?"

He sighed, "Ben's fine, but it's gonna take time to heal. We wanted to come and talk to you earlier, we did. But Alby forbade any visits. Even Newt doesn't understand why. We're all worried, actually. Alby hasn't set a date for your Gathering, which is weird."

I frowned, uninterested in the box as I couldn't distinguish its contents in the darkness, "Why hasn't he?"

I could barely see him, but I knew he shrugged, "Shuck knows, shank's been acting weird lately."

I pursed my lips, "Really, I don't see what the fuss is all about. It's not like I've been exploring, I just saved Ben's damn life. What's he saying about it?"

"He's been silent ever since," Clint murmured, "Newt, Minho, and Fry are all over the place, saying you have nothing to do in the Slammer."

The mention of Minho rose a feeling of warmth within me, "So you haven't forgotten about me..." I nearly clamped my hand over my lips when I realized what I had just murmured. I suddenly felt highly interested in what Clint had brought me.

I nearly jumped when I felt his hand on my shoulder, "Of course we didn't forget about you, Eli... I mean, you're our friend and this is unfair..."

I pursed my lips, "I don't think Alby likes me very much..."

"Alby doesn't like anyone aside from Newt and Minho. They're the only ones remaining of the Dark Days," Clint murmured in horrified awe, "they've seen mad klunk happen and that drew them close. They're literally brothers now."

Ever since I had got here, I kept hearing about those Dark Days but no one elaborated. In one of my possibly last nights in the Glade, I figured I was allowed to ask about those.

"What happened during the Dark Days?" I asked quietly, hoping he would give me a satisfactory answer.

He tsk'ed, "I'm not exactly the right person to ask. I wasn't there. Alby is highly unlikely to ever talk directly to you; and it'd be preferable not to remind Newt of those. Minho... I think he's the only one able to provide you with an answer, if you ask him. If you—"

He stopped mid-sentence, but I finished it for him, "If I stay long enough."

"You know, you're not the first one to work with me. I used to have a Keeper, Alan. It's him who taught me most of what I know, the rest I already had in mind," Clint's voice grew lower as he spoke, but he kept on, "he was much like Alby —he was among the first ten—, he never talked too much, and when he did, he never repeated himself.

"Anyway, one day another shank attacked him on one of his bad days and, long story short, Alan killed him. Alby was furious, he nearly killed Alan himself. The outcome was that Alan was banished..." Clint trailed off before falling silent.

"Banished?" I asked, trying to quell the tension.

"He was—" Clint's breath hitched, as though he were trying to contain himself, "He was forced through the Doors of the Maze as they were closing for the night."

His words hung in the air like poisonous smoke. Alan was literally executed. A night in the Maze must've had him as good as dead. How could Alby do that to him? A nagging voice in the back of my mind reminded me that Alan had killed a Glader. Still, the possibility of being banished myself ate at me, and I had to keep myself from shuddering at the memory of the Grievers.

Unconsciously, my hand went to squeeze Clint's, "I know what you're thinking, Clint. You're not jinxed, all right? You're gonna get other Med-jacks to train and it's gonna be okay."

He gave me a dark chuckle, "Sure. It's gonna be okay." I was about to answer when he stood up, "Eat up. Frypan said it was your favorite. You take the pill and get changed first, I'm waiting outside."

He left me to the darkness of the Slammer. Only when I blinked did I realize that I had tears in my eyes. I bit my lips to keep myself from letting out the sob that threatened to tear my throat. If the Slammer were guarded by anyone else, I might've let a tear roll or two. But I would die before Billy witnessed my weakness.

I sniffled quietly as I set to work on making myself somewhat cleaner. Clint was thoughtful enough to bring me a change of underwear, and I could've hugged him then and there. Hugs weren't in the Gladers' diction, and even though they were sometimes needed, they felt weird about unnecessary physical contact which wasn't a shove or a punch.

"I'm done, Clint," I called out, cursing myself for the wavering of my voice.

The door opened and Clint got in, "Okay. I'll see you in the morning."

With that, I felt his arms wrap around me. The feeling was not as engulfing as I thought it would be, then again we were nearly the same height; but it spread a feeling of warmth within me that I relished. _So this is really the end... I'm gonna get banished,_ I thought.

When I was about to pull back, Clint pulled me against him urgently, "Don't fall asleep tonight. We'll wait until the Baggers are out to come and talk to you."

"Okay," I whispered back.

He pulled back, "Good night, Eli."

"Night, Clint," I murmured distractedly as I placed the chair back upright.

I sat and ate. Frypan had made me something simple but which I loved: tuna and cheese sandwich. And underneath it was the chocolate the Creators had brought me yesterday. It came in handy... 

* * *

At around midnight —it could've been ten, but my approximation was midnight—, Billy was still guarding my door when I heard a loud snore. He was... sleeping? He had seemed so eager for me to go out of line, so his falling asleep was confusing.

I stood up and looked out the small window on the door to find a small pack of Gladers coming my way. At their whispers, I could recognize Winston, Frypan, and Clint. The other two turned out to be Newt and Minho. An involuntary smile spread across my face. I was so happy they had come.

"There's our little criminal," Minho's greeting made my heart flutter, I frowned minutely at the fact. "How dare you save lives?"

"Shh, you're gonna wake the guarding pig," I hissed, mock-urgently.

"Nah, he's out for the night. Thanks to the sleeping pills that Frypan used, to season his dinner," Winston spoke with a hint of pride.

A mischievous grin spread across my face, "Brother, I like the way you think."

Just then, I heard a clinking of keys and Minho whispering, "Aha!" before the door opened.

"There's the shank," Frypan greeted me. I couldn't distinguish his features, but I could perfectly imagine his grin.

"Wait, wait," Newt spoke for the first time, "explain to us what the bloody hell happened, first."

I rolled my eyes, "I was walking by the East Door when I saw something moving. When I realized it was a wounded runner who was going too slow and there were only five minutes left, I didn't need much convincing." I had rehearsed the short version in my mind during the evening.

"Ben won't talk to us," Newt added, as though I hadn't spoken, "I think he knows he's not gonna run again. His leg's like mine was, it's not gonna fully heal."

This news made my jaw fall open, "What? But Clint said—"

"Clint tried to reassure you," Newt cut me off. He sounded angry, not at me, just plain angry.

"I thought she might need some time to adjust to being here before I made bad news rain on her," Clint bit back.

Minho, whom I hadn't noticed had sat on the chair, let out a dark chuckle, "Not like you're helping by arguing, though."

"That's right, slim it, you two," Winston hissed. He was standing watch outside of the Slammer.

"I'm gonna tell you the truth, Eli. The best outcome is that you're gonna tryout as a runner," Minho spoke decisively, "Newt and I have the power to sway Alby's choice, you won't be alone in this."

I nodded, despite the darkness, and murmured, "I knew you weren't a bunch of slintheads. When's the Gathering gonna take place?"

"That's the touchy part," I could hear the wince in Newt's voice, "Alby wants to hold it back until the end of the new Greenie's tryouts."

"To think I wanted to go easy on her," Clint sighed sarcastically.

I frowned then. I may have had the support of my friends, but the other Keepers might've been against me, "Hey, what are the others saying?"

No one answered. For a minute, silence dominated the air until Winston spoke from outside, "They're all convinced you're gonna get banished."

My eyebrow twitched, "Well that's cheerful. Remind me to cut all the wounds I healed before going away," I used all my sarcasm to hide my fear.

"Nothing is decided yet, we won't let that happen," Frypan had lost his usual cheerfulness. Instead was a compassionate sort of sadness as I felt his hand on my shoulder.

When I looked back down at Minho, he seemed to be in deep thought. He sat upright again and faced me in the darkness, "You're not gonna die. Even if you're banished."

"That's impossible," Clint countered in an apologetic mutter.

Frypan sighed, "Minho, it's good to have hope, but now it's unrealistic."

Winston tsk'ed, "High hopes kill, Minho, you should know that."

This fired up the runner, "Well then, why the shuck are we running the shucking Maze? You think—"

Newt cut him off, "What'd you have in mind?"

"Newt, you're not seriously—" Clint started before we heard a tap on the back of his head.

Minho drew in a hesitant breath, which was so out of character that it shushed us all, "I'll tell you when I know."

I could distinguish Newt's slow nod thanks to the moonlight seeping from the open door, "I think I know what you're thinking. It could work but with a bloody lot of luck."

"And fast feet," Minho added thoughtfully.

"Gally's awake, get out of here, shanks," Winston hissed as he poked his head in.

I felt a tap on my back I recognized as Frypan's, "See you tomorrow, Eli. Good night."

The others bid me goodnight as well and got out. When the door closed, I went to the window and called out, "Good night, shanks."

Newt raised his free hand in farewell while they walked away, leaving me to wonder about Minho's idea despite my ignorance of anything pertaining to the Maze. I fell asleep, curled on the floor. 

* * *

Days passed uneventfully. I'd hear the Gladers at their work during daytime, Clint would bring me food and a pad change until my period was over and I had permission to shower, night would fall and I'd get a visit of one of my friends at a time. This routine was nice at first, until it got boring. Jeff once visited me, bringing me lunch as he was trying out as a Slopper— poor Greenie. I briefed him on how things rolled in the Glade, and he knew as little as I suspected. I learned he only had three tryouts yet, meaning three days left in the Slammer for me. I tried figuring out why Alby wanted to delay my Gathering, but thought it wasn't worth torturing my mind. 

* * *

On the eve of my Gathering, I was waiting for my visitor when I heard jogging steps. I stood and went to the small lookout to find Minho nearly running towards the Slammer. He looked nervous, exhausted, and excited at once.

"Look, we don't have a lot of time," he murmured breathlessly. He didn't bother picking the keys to open the door, as usual.

"We have a whole night and tomorrow," I pointed out.

"Not that," he shook his head as he plucked a bunch of papers from his back pocket, "listen, if you're banished tomorrow, I think you can survive if you run really fast and if you can keep these maps of the sections in mind. The thing is, there's always been a pattern of the differences in the eight sections of the Maze.

"Each Door leads to two sections: North leads to one and two, East to three and four, South to five and six, and West to seven and eight. I only gave you four sections so it's easier for you to remember. One, three, five, and seven, depending on which Door you'll... which Door you'll get out from."

That last sentence seemed to take its toll on him. My mind was racing, I was still trying to come to terms with what he was letting me in on. Minho was giving me the secrets of the runners, just so I had a chance —as slim as it was— at survival.

"Thank you, Minho," I murmured in awe, my hand reaching for one of the bars on the window.

He locked eyes with me for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, "Remember, in any case, you turn left at the end of the first corridor. I'll be running that section the day after to get you, all right?"

I pressed my lips together and nodded, "All right."

He slipped the folded paper through the window bars, "Get a quick look tonight, but mostly sleep. You'll need your energy tomorrow."

With that, he handed me a small flashlight, "Thanks... If I can't, say goodbye to the others for me."

He smirked sarcastically, "No need. You're not going anywhere."

I exhaled sharply from my nose, "If you say so... Go get some sleep, I'm not gonna hold you in here."

To my disappointment, he nodded, "Good night, shank. See you at the Gathering."

"See you then," I called back as my eyes followed him, jogging back towards the Homestead.

I waited until his form disappeared into the night before sitting on the chair and studying the four sections under artificial white light. I ended up pulling an all-nighter, cursing myself when light started pouring in from the lookout. After seven hours, I assumed I could find my way better through the first and fifth sections, so hopefully if I was banished, it'd be from either the North or the South Door.

Ten minutes after the Doors opened, so did the Slammer's to reveal Alby, "Today's your Gathering. Spend the day out."

I had hidden the maps inside my bra and the flashlight in my pants' pocket, "Really?"


	7. 7 Gathering

**7\. Gathering  
**  
"Really?" I mused, "Given what you've got in stock for me, I'd much rather have a cigarette and a finger of whiskey."

He smirked, "There's eggs and bacon. Coffee if you behave."

I stood up and walked past him, "You know, I've lost a lot of respect for you, these past few days."

"You don't need to respect me, just to obey," he drawled as he closed the door.

I stopped walking and faced him, arms crossed, "That, Alby, sounded so wrong."

I was going to head to the kitchen area when he gripped my arm, "You're not going alone."

I groaned, "Not Billy..."

Of course, Billy came with a wet face, "Come on, shank. Breakfast, and then a tour of the Glade."

I rolled my eyes, "I know the Glade, thank you. Did you have sweet dreams, last night?"

Billy glared at me while Alby gave him a sideways glance, "We'll talk about this later. To the kitchen. Your Gathering will be right after Greenie's."

I raised an eyebrow, "Can I see Ben with your authorization?"

He frowned, "No."

I sighed. Then it would be without his authorization, simple as that.

Billy lead me harshly towards the kitchen area, stood in line with me, and then lead me again towards an empty table despite there being one at which Minho, Newt, Jeff, and Winston were eating. Frypan was still working and Clint must've been giving Ben breakfast. Newt raised his hand and locked eyes with me, in a manner of inviting me over, to which I responded by nodding towards Billy and rolling my eyes.

"Eat up," Billy ordered sharply.

I reluctantly tore my eyes away from my friends and raised an eyebrow at him, "Sure. My fork is next to my plate, go ahead and force me."

He glowered at me, "I'm not wasting an hour forcing you to eat. If you don't want to, it's your choice. I'm not the one banished, at the end of the day."

I was going to fire back at him when a throat clearing interrupted me. I looked up to find Winston, "Newt wants her over."

Billy folded his arms over his chest, "Is that an order or a wish?"

"An order from the second-in-command and the Keeper of the Runners," Winston announced before smirking down at me, "and a wish from me."

I flashed him a genuine smile, "I'd love to."

I made to get up but was violently shoved back on the bench, "I'm coming with."

Winston shrugged as he picked my tray, "Whatever floats your boat. Minho's gonna be pleased."

The latter sentence seemed to put off the Keeper of the Baggers —there was only one other Bagger—, but pleased me to infinity. I couldn't help grinning from ear to ear at the prospect of having company other than Billy. I couldn't ever remember hating someone so much.

Newt lost his dawning smile when he understood that Billy was joining, and Minho directly and blatantly glared at him. I frowned at the fact. Well, we couldn't discuss our plan out in the open, and Billy was kind of an asshole, but still...

Newt still managed to smile genuinely at me as I sat between him and Minho, "Good to see you out of the pit, Eli."

"Welcome back, shank," Minho tore his eyes away from Billy, whom he regarded with much contempt, to smirk at me and give me a friendly tap on the back.

"Not for long," Billy leaned back as he sat right in front of me, Winston on his right, "enjoy your last moments."

At that, Newt bore an irritated frown while Minho pretended not having heard anything, "You can leave her here with us, you know?"

"Nah," he let out with such simplicity that it bothered me, but I didn't speak to him, "Alby's orders, above us all."

I frowned, "What are his orders, exactly?"

He raised a dark eyebrow at me before letting his snakelike eyes linger on my chest, I subconsciously drew my arms closer to myself, "His orders are that I don't let you away from my eyes until Greenie's Gathering. Which, in my opinion, is necessary."

I wanted to come up with a sarcastic remark, but found I couldn't formulate anything. Something in his tone of voice, and especially in the way he looked at me, had me petrified. He seemed to have something squalid at the back of his mind and it was the last thing that I wanted to know about.

As much as I wished to forget about his existence, I couldn't for the life of me tear my eyes away from him. His expression grew into that of a malfeasant sort of hunger which made my blood run cold in a matter of milliseconds. My hand, which was about to curl around my fork, went slack; and my mouth and throat went dry as I tried to gulp.

Winston noticed my unease and probably Billy's implications as well, "Slim it, Bill."

This seemed to egg him on, he smirked as he replied to him, his eyes still trained on me, "Why?"

When I could finally look away from my predator, my eyes fell on Minho's forearms over the table. He had balled his hands into fists, his knuckles white, and veins showing on the back of his hands and on his forearms. I drew in a shaky breath as I slipped my hands under the table and over my lap. I only noticed I was shaking when I meant to wring my hands.

For the first time ever since I had come up the Box, I was honestly terrified.

"Just shut your bloody hole, Bill," Newt growled on my right.

"Or else?" He taunted with a sly smile.

"Or else you're gonna need a shucking Med-jack by the time I'm done with you," Minho spoke for the first time this morning.

Billy wavered some before regaining his swagger, "You wouldn't dare. Alby would—"

"Alby would follow you in the Medwing, if he didn't think you deserved it," Minho spat through gritted teeth.

That took me aback. No one, _no one_ spoke to or about Alby that way. I frowned, my fear of what Billy had in mind for me momentarily forgotten, and questioned Winston with my gaze. He had a serious look on his face and nodded minutely, meaning that Minho was actually serious. I turned to Newt who paid me no heed; he was too busy glaring daggers in Billy's direction.

"Wait until he hears it," the Bagger tried keeping his stance but it was obvious that, by now, he feared Minho.

After a nearly-ten-minute-glaring-contest, the spell was broken by Alby, "Billy, Minho, Winston! Gathering!"

I gave a sigh of relief as all but Minho and Newt stood up, "I'll see you later, Eli." Winston raised his hand in a lazy wave.

I gave him a small smile, which was the most I could muster at that moment, "Yeah. Treat him well, all right?" I added with a chuckle, making him blush ever so slightly and chuckle as well.

"Will do. Enjoy your breakfast," Winston bid me farewell with that last sentence as he went on Billy's heels towards the Council.

I looked at Newt who glanced down at me, a small smile gracing solely his lips, "You're not going?"

He shook his head, "I'm not needed there, although Minho is," he added pointedly.

With a huff like an angry stallion, Minho stood up, "Greenie didn't try out for Runner, so I'm not concerned about that either."

He stormed off, leaving me alone with Newt. My hands were still on my lap, not exactly shaking anymore but not in a peaceful state either. I looked around.

The kitchen area was empty, save for a few latecomers. A Slopper was already cleaning tables and bringing dishes to the kitchen. A Slicer was leading a stray lamb back towards the Slaughterhouse. Bark was having fun with a small animal, by the Deadheads. The sky had taken its usual light blue color, some white clouds —like a few strokes of a paint brush— ornating it.

The Glade was beautiful.

 _A beautiful prison,_ a nagging voice in the back of my mind countered.

I was taken out of my reverie by Newt's voice, "Eat up. You're gonna need your strength for the Gathering."

I nodded and took my fork, only to find myself poking my now-cold fried eggs. I wasn't in any mood to eat but I knew I had to, if I wanted to stand a chance in the Maze.

Seeing my reluctance to eat, Newt slid my plate in front of him and filled the two slices of bread I hadn't noticed with eggs and bacon. He then placed the sandwich in front of me and stood up easily on his crutch, waiting for me to join him.

I looked up at him and the stupidest thought came to me, "You can go without the crutch now, you're healed..." I muttered distractedly, glancing back at my hands on my lap.

He leaned it gently against the table, "I got used to it... Come on, we'll have a walk."

I picked the plate and followed him around numbly. The seriousness of my situation had finally hit me in a matter of seconds, and I was now at the peak of depression. I felt Newt's hand on my back, but despite its physical warmth it felt cold through my t-shirt. Only then did I realize I was wearing the clothes I had come up the Box in. How ironic...

Without me really noticing, we made our way towards the Medwing. I'd have to leave this place too, in a few hours. It wrenched my heart to come to terms with the fact.

Newt pushed the door open to reveal Ben, his ankle wrapped in a bloody mess of cloth and foot, staring into space. Seeing the way Clint had tended to his foot could mean one of two things: One, this was how Clint always worked. Two, he was in an awful state of mind when he was working on it.

I didn't bother with a greeting, "When was the last time Clint changed your bandages?" Ben barely spared me a glance as he continued behaving like a lobotomized vegetable. He needed proper care and I was not taking no for an answer, "You're gonna have to talk, Ben—"

"He hasn't," his murmur was so slight I almost didn't catch it.

I blinked twice and frowned, "What do you mean? You mean it's been like this ever since I got you out of the Maze?" He nodded minutely, "Shuck it, this is all a pile of klunk. Newt, bring me the key to the closet. Dear old Bill gave mine to Alby."

"They're with Clint, we can't interrupt the Gathering," Newt protested, his eyes on Ben's wound as though it reminded him of a long lost memory —and it probably did.

I pursed my lips, "We're gonna have to work with what's out of the closet, then. Bandages, cotton, rubbing alcohol— it must be near the desk." Newt didn't answer. He was still fixating Ben's ankle as though it was an insult. I snapped my fingers close to his face, "This is why you're not a Med-jack. I'll do it on my own."

I picked the items myself and inwardly thanked Clint for the presence of scissors. I sat on my new patient's bedside and, as with Newt, placed his wounded ankle on my folded knee. As I was working on cleaning the gash right across his ankle, I noticed many similarities with Newt's leg.

"Guys, this awfully feels like Déjà vu— how'd you two get hurt anyway?" I asked. My words hung in the air like a swear word out of a small child's mouth at a family dinner. I locked eyes with Ben, and then with Newt, "Well?"

Newt scratched his eyebrow with his forefinger as he drew in a breath, "Well it's uh— someth— something in the Maze—"

I sighed, interrupting him, "Newt, I want the truth. I'm not a kid, all right? Ben must've got hurt the same way you did, and I suspect I know how you did." He gawked at me, "Nobody said anything, it was suspicious. Then I saw your behavior and it all fit together... I wasn't here during the Dark Days, so I don't know what you've been through, but... Argh, leave it. I'm not good at talking."

He looked away. I kept on cleaning Ben's ankle with cotton clots. And then I had to grab the rubbing alcohol.

"Ben, this is gonna hurt like hell. Sorry about that," I announced in monotone.

I started working on it and saw his arms flex and his hands ball into fists around the bedsheets. I tried to make quick work of it and, after it was all completely clean, I could see the damage done.

His ankle was still twisted at an unnatural angle, his flesh was still bleeding, and if this went on any longer we would've had to amputate. Clint was going to have an earful when we got out of my Gathering...

"Okay, we have a problem," I spoke, making Newt turn to me. He had taken a seat at the desk.

"What?" He asked.

"I'm gonna need to put his foot's bones back in place. It's gonna hurt, it's gonna be three sharp moves—" it would take only two but I wanted to be evasive, "—and Ben's most likely gonna hate me afterwards. But it's either this or amputation."

"Ben's here, you know? He's listening to everything you say," my patient finally spoke.

"Oh hi, didn't notice you there," I mused sarcastically, "are you gonna stay put or am I gonna have to use force?"

"What do you mean by 'use force'?" Ben asked shakily.

I rolled my eyes and went to the trunk that had come up on my tryout day. I opened the lid and got the belts out. I didn't wait for Ben's approval as I started tying him to the bed, Newt helping me with his shoulders and legs. I slipped in rubber gloves, snapping them in place, and cracked my knuckles. I was going to need fully functioning hands.

"Okay, Newt hold him down." I commanded before locking eyes with Ben, "On three." He nodded, "It's better if you look away..."

I placed one hand around his foot, just below his toes, and another at his heel. Newt looked on, rather fascinated by the whole thing. I was going to need to be sharp and precise. His foot was at an inward angle so I would need to bring it straight and then to fold it as one would while crouching. The latter to make sure he would be able to move it when he healed.

When I figured out exactly how I ought to do it, I nodded at Newt, "One..." I murmured, to give Ben the time to anticipate.

As I said "Two!", I straightened his ankle in a sickening crack which was drowned out by his pained cry and the sound of leather against metal as he pulled on his bounds. Newt was nearly lying on top of him to stop him from moving. On three, I folded his foot forward and placed it back. Ben was breathing heavily, his body slack on the messy bed. Newt's eyes had gone wide and his mind was probably racing.

"I'm sorry, Ben," I sighed, the adrenaline of the moment diminishing gradually in my blood.

"You said three moves," he panted, not even strong enough to open his eyes to their widest.

I smirked as I started undoing one of the buckles, Newt taking care of the rest, "It was only two actually, ain't that great?"

"You're jacked," he sighed, letting his head fall back on his pillow.

"You're gonna be able to walk, you slinthead," I chuckled as I set on properly bandaging his foot. "Tell Clint to give you something for the pain when he gets back, all right?"

He gave a moan which probably meant, "Yeah..."

"Alby would be bloody stupid to banish you," Newt's murmur took me out of my Med-jack state of mind.

I sighed and took off the gloves, "To think I was able to forget about all that for a minute..."

Newt was going to apologize but was cut off by Ben's loud snore, I half-smiled and went over to the desk to grab a pen and paper. I wrote down instructions about Ben and a bit of scolding about the way he hadn't healed him.

I suddenly had an idea. I took another paper and started writing a letter. At first, I thought it was one to all my friends. But as I wrote, I realized I was really only addressing Minho. I pursed my lips at the realization but kept on writing. I was three paragraphs in when the door flung open.

It was Clint and Jeff, "Guess who got a new Med-jack?" Clint greeted me cheerfully.

I quickly folded the paper after one last sentence and stood up, "Guess who's gonna get a shucking earful?" I shot back almost angrily.

He seemed taken aback, "What did I do?"

"Can you just imagine the state I found Ben in? Wake him and give him painkillers, I think he passed out," I ordered before smiling briefly at Jeff and going to shake his hand, "welcome, Jeff. Listen to Clint when I'm not around, and the oath to the Glade goes before the one as a Med-jack. I learned it the hard way."

He nodded uncertainly, "Uh okay. Thanks. I wish you weren't getting kicked out, though. I heard you were a better Med-jack than Clint."

I frowned, "Who said that?"

"Everyone in your favor," Clint spoke as he was extracting medicine in a syringe.

My frown deepened, "Who exactly?"

Clint squinted at the wall as he tried remembering before he said, "Minho, Winston, Frypan, and I did. Zart was reluctant to admit it, but he didn't seem to have your banishment in mind."

I made a quick work of addition and murmured, "So the majority is against me..."

"What do you mean?" Newt asked as Clint administered the painkiller in one of Ben's forearm veins, at the crook of his elbow.

I displayed my fingers and retracted one at each name, "You, Minho, Winston, Clint, Frypan. That means half the Keepers in my favor. Then it's Zart, Jackson, Gally, Billy, and that shank who's the Keeper of the Bricknicks. They're against me, so the final word will be Alby's... I'm literally done for, Newt."

He was going to speak when a loud knock interrupted him, "Elizabeth. Your Gathering's taking place right now." It was Alby.

I suddenly remembered the letter, I shoved it in Newt's hand, "Please give this to Minho if I'm banished, otherwise give it back to me."

He frowned deeply, "All right... Anything else?"

I gave his arm a friendly punch and smirked, "Don't miss me too much..."

He let out a sad chuckle as he flung his arm over my shoulders, "Let's go save your arse first."

* * *

The mood in the Council was morose. Half the Keepers wanted me out and the other half knew Alby would be among the first. My chances didn't look too good. I took the place Jeff occupied just a few minutes ago and tried my best to look fearless and dignified. I even swung a leg over the other, like a lady.

Alby stood in the middle of the circle the chairs formed, "We are here gathered today because Elizabeth of the Med-jacks broke her oath as a Glader never to go into the Maze. Every one will get to say his bit about it, and then we'll vote. Billy, you start."

I groaned inwardly as the worst person possible stood up, looking smug, "I personally think, as a Bagger, that she deserves to be banished. I mean, Ben could've got back in on his damn own..."

My lips parted to defend myself but, as I locked eyes with Newt, he shook his head and closed his eyes briefly, telling me to wait.

And so I did. During Billy's rant. And then during the Keeper of the Bricknicks'. Jackson wasn't any better, he pressed on Billy's point and avoided my gaze. Then came Frypan's turn, which made me smile.

"Are you shanks serious? She saved his shucking life, even he said it the other day when I brought him dinner!" The cook exclaimed, "Eli shouldn't have been in the Slammer in the first place, the least would be to make her the Keeper of the Med-jacks, no offense Clint."

Clint tilted his head, "That was exactly what I was about to suggest, so thanks Fry."

Frypan, who had been gesticulating during his speech, let his arms fall to his side, "There. T's what I think."

He sat back down and Gally stood up. We had been friends, once. I wished he would be lenient towards me and say I didn't deserve to die.

No such luck.

Both he and Zart proved to be against me, the latter having the decency to apologize to me. I gave him a curt nod as Winston stood up.

"Guys, this is all a pile of klunk. I mean, how many shanks did we lose because of that shucking rule? I think there should be a life or death exception to the rule, which would apply to Eli first. Ben would be dead by now if she hadn't thought of helping him. If he were here, he'd agree with me. I don't ask for her to be rewarded, just not punished," his whole speech was directed towards Alby who looked impassible, knees apart on his chair and arms folded over his chest.

Winston sat back down and Clint stood, "As a Med-jack, I think you know what I have in mind. Eli mustn't be banished, and she should be elected Keeper instead—"

He was cut off by Billy's sneer, "We all know you two have been playing doctor in the Medwing, but that mustn't affect your judgement on this."

I pinched the bridge of my nose frustratedly as Clint turned to glare at him, "Eli and I have never done anything aside from our job in the Medwing, all right?"

Billy smirked, "But you would've liked to, wouldn't you?"

Clint gritted his teeth, "That's out of the question..."

At the absence of denial, an irritated sigh made it out of my lips as I took a long look around. Newt had a serious frown on his face as his eyes were fixed on the floor, his back against his chair. Minho, who hadn't spoken a word since breakfast it seemed, was leaning over with his elbows on his knees and his hands joined as though he were in deep thought. He didn't seem to have noticed the argument that was happening at the moment. Winston, two chairs farther, had his eyes on me, a feeble smirk of sympathy etched on his face which I returned in a tight smile. My eyes then took me towards Gally, who had the hardest look he could muster on his face, as though Clint and Billy's words had personally offended him.

And then there was Frypan, who had a huge smile on his face and seemed to be greatly entertained. He winked at me, "Well now you know there's love in the air, don't you?"

"Can you shuck-faces focus on the matter at hand?!" Alby's bellow took us out of our momentary trance, he turned to Clint, "So you're saying she should be Keeper? All right, next."

Minho didn't bother standing up, only straightening his seated position and looking, it seemed, into my very soul. My breath caught in my throat as he inhaled deeply, "I'm not gonna repeat what other shanks said. The least we could do is have her try out as a Runner."

This heaved a wave of discussion and arguments which were shushed by Alby, "No. No runner tryouts, Minho. Especially not after breaking the rules. Next."

"I thought every suggestion was admissible," Minho asked sarcastically, "or is it just when you're okay with it?"

Alby glared at him, "Slim it, Minho. Next."

Minho raised a black eyebrow at him as he folded his arms over his chest, he didn't press it though as Newt spoke, "I'm with Minho on this one, sorry Alby. Yeah, she broke number one rule but her days in the Slammer must've been enough for her to think on her actions. If you want, she can spend another two weeks there but banishing her is too much. Since she likes the Maze so much, she should try out as a Runner. It's all the more reason since we're short one runner, with Ben and his useless foot."

His words, though not very flattering towards me, seemed to get through to Alby. Newt had used a diction which was very close to the first-in-command's and it was a clever move on his side. I most didn't want to try out as a runner, but if that meant I wouldn't be banished then I'd take it.

It was then Alby's turn to speak. Everyone in the room held their breath as the leader of the Glade walked in the middle of the room, "My final decision, which you're all gonna have to vote for or against, is that she will be banished at the end of today."

Even though I had been expecting it, it still made my heart drop to my stomach to hear it worded out. I hadn't noticed my hands here shaking until I tried wringing them. I was usually not very talkative, but in situations like these, my vocal cords disappeared in the depths of my throat.

Billy spoke first, "I'm pro-banishment."

The Keeper of the Bricknicks, "For."

Jackson, "For. Sorry Eli."

Frypan, "Of course I'm against, do you even need to ask?"

Gally, "For." That hurt.

Zart, "I'm sorry, Eli. I'm for the banishment. We have rules to follow."

Winston, "I'm against banishing Elizabeth."

Clint, "I'm against. Of course I'm against, this is ridiculous."

Minho, "I'm for," he started, shocking me and our common friends, "only if I'm the one to lead her towards the Maze Door."

Billy glared at him, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Minho gave him a cold look, "It means what you think, Bill. I don't trust you around her."

"What does it matter? She'll be dead in a few hours anyway—"

His hurtful statement was cut off by Minho bolting off his chair and stomping towards him. He grabbed the shorter Keeper by his shirt and lifted him to eye-level so his feet hung a few inches off the floor. Billy looked downright terrified of Minho in the three seconds it took for the action to happen.

"If you don't take that back right now, you'll be joining her in the Maze whether you shucking like it or not," Minho seethed through gritted teeth.

At that moment, Alby went right between them, "Minho. You let him down right now." His words were slow and deliberate, but void of his authority. For one of the rarest times, it felt like Minho and Alby were equal. Friends, almost...

The Runner wouldn't have it, "Take it back!" He yelled at Billy who stifled a whimper.

"I take it back! I take it back, all right? Let me down," he exclaimed, trying to hide his fear.

Satisfied, Minho tossed the Bagger back roughly on his chair and took his seat again. Newt looked like a child discovering his favorite hero, which added a certain softness to the situation. Billy huffed like a bull while Alby turned to Newt, who had a small smirk on his lips.

"I'm against this bloody banishment from the beginning," he told Alby.

The latter spoke for himself, "I'm for the banishment. We have rules and an order to follow, all right? Don't think I'm enjoying this, Elizabeth."

I raised an eyebrow at him, "You're hiding it very well, then."

"What did I say about interrupting me?" Alby tried sounding authoritative but I was past that. If I was being sent to die, I didn't give a klunk about hierarchy.

"Pretty difficult to respect someone who's sending you to shucking die. You might as well ask Winston to put a knife to my throat, for all I know." I spoke, not caring about the shaking in my voice. "The only thing I'm asking is that you be freaking clear when a Greenie swears the oath that it's okay to let someone die as long as you don't get in the Maze."

Someone snorted at that and Alby gave me an apologetic glance, "I think you know your fate. You're free to go around but I don't want you alone. Newt will stay with you."

* * *

I pursed my lips together, "If that ain't familiar..."

Newt and I were in the kitchen area, waiting for the meal Frypan had prepared for me. I decided I'd eat and then sleep before being banished.

Newt frowned, "What do you mean?"

I smiled softly, "It feels exactly like my first day in here, minus your crutch."

A small smile graced his lips, "That's right..." He looked around and, seeing no one was within earshot, leaned over the table and murmured, "Have you checked on the maps again?"

"I'll do it before napping," I replied as my food came.

In front of me was a considerably large plate of cheese fries and a small bowl of homemade mayonnaise, courtesy of Frypan. I had tasted his mayo on that barbecue evening and fallen in love with it. If I died, one of the things I'd regret most would be Frypan's food.

When the plate was in front of me, I gasped dramatically, "This is what girls call true love, guys. Lesson number one." They chuckled, somewhat sadly, and I huffed, "Come on, cheer up. Maybe the Creators are gonna send another girl in two weeks?"

"It's not so much about you being a girl," Newt muttered, "it's about who you are."

"Yeah, imagine if they sent up a girl who'd cry at the sight of blood?" Frypan asked, "You're like a balanced mix of both."

I was going to answer after I ate my first few French fries, but a delighted moan took over my throat instead, "Frypan, if I didn't consider you a friend I'd marry you solely for these."

He snorted, wholeheartedly this time, "I'll take that as a compliment."

I tossed a few more fries in my mouth and spoke while chewing, "Do take it as such."

"It's not very ladylike to talk with your mouth full," a voice I hadn't heard directed towards me in ages spoke.

"Gally," I greeted him, "come and have a seat."

"Seriously?" Frypan asked, "He voted against you."

I shrugged, eating some more, "Yeah but I don't wanna waste time hating and stuff. Except for Billy, that shuck-face deserves all the hate he can get."

"Why?" Gally asked with a frown, "Did he do something?"

"His whole behavior towards me is something," I spoke between two mouthfuls, "every time he opens his mouth, it feels like he has the worst things in the back of his mind and it just..." I shuddered.

"You don't feel safe around him, do you?" Newt asked quietly.

I shook my head, "No. But that's not a problem anymore since, you know..." I trailed off awkwardly.

The rest of the day was spent quietly. I did my goodbyes to some of the guys I knew and then went to my cabin with Newt. We studied the maps and he explained some runner details to me. I went to sleep at around 1p.m., my head full of information.

* * *

I felt a strand of hair moving on my face, and it woke me up to find Newt, smiling softly at me, "Hey," I murmured groggily.

"Hey," he whispered, I saw he was sitting next to my hammock, on the wooden floor.

I stretched and chuckled at him, "It's not creepy at all to wake up to someone watching you."

He chuckled as well, "Just trying to submit you to memory."

I blushed but tried to brush it off, "Creepy nonetheless... How much time do I have left?"

He checked his watch and murmured, "Two hours..."

I arranged myself into a seated position in the hammock, "Tell me a story."

He laughed lightly, "Of all things to ask, really? What kind of story do you want?"

I gave it a thought and snapped my fingers, "Tell me why Minho is allowed to put Alby back into his place without it being a big deal."

"I can too, I just have more self-control," he bore an amused frown as he said so.

I nudged his shoulder playfully, "Come on, tell me!"

He scratched his brow nervously and looked down, the ghost of a smile still on his face, "There's no actual story to go with, I think it's just because we were in the first batch. We've been through a lot together and I guess that makes us equal. You know, Minho was supposed to be first-in-command, but he passed that on to Alby. Said he wanted to focus on finding a way out and that leading a bunch of shanks sounded trivial to him..."

I gave him a triumphant smile, "See, there _was_ a story about it!"

Newt flashed me a knowing smirk, "You want to know about the Dark Days, don't you?"

I bit my bottom lip, "I uh... I didn't wanna ask you, Newt because um..." I gestured vaguely towards his lower half.

He looked down at his ankle and smiled weakly, "It's all right... It actually wasn't the reason for this but—" he cleared his throat loudly, "We uh... We first came in a group of ten. There was Alby, Minho, Alan, George, me, and five others. At first, Alan was the leader. He was the oldest and strongest— at first, of course. When we all came up, knowing nothing but our names, we were downright terrified. Then, slowly but surely, we started cooperating. And then winter came.

"The first batch stayed for ten months with no Greenie. We didn't tell anyone, Alby said they'd ask too many questions. So um... The Box was sending less and less food as it got cold, and that was bound to create conflicts. The trees were stripped, it was awful.

"Once, Stephen started behaving like an animal— literally like an animal. He wouldn't speak to anyone and would live in the Deadheads, away from the others. We didn't really care, as long as he didn't interfere with our well-being. Until one day he ran out of the woods and literally lunged at another's throat. Minho, he—" Newt nearly choked on his words, but steadied himself with a deep breath, "Whatever he did, he had to do it. Stephen was going to kill us all if he continued. But then George got in a fight with Minho and, long story short, Minho won."

I shuddered, I wasn't sure I wanted to know the whole story anymore. Something irked me though, "Do you guys know what lead Stephen to act like that? Was there any change in his physical appearance?"

Newt squinted into space, "He was thinner— we all were, but his thinness was more noticeable. He was covered in dirt and dead leaves, so we couldn't distinguish much of his skin. His eyes... His eyes were crazed, but now that I think about it, it looked familiar."

I blinked several times and frowned, "Clint explained to me about the Changing. It sounds rather similar. Are you sure he didn't go into the Maze?"

He shook his head, pressing his lips together, "No. The Doors only opened when Dough came up the Box. But now that you say it, it really did look like the Changing."

I was going to reply when a knock on the main door of the cabin was heard. I stood up and opened the door to find Winston and Bark. The latter looked awfully depressed and it felt like it knew something consequent was going to happen.

We spents a few dozen minutes together, just talking, the Dark Days forgotten. We were joined by Frypan, who had given Wyck control over dinner's preparation; Clint, who had given Ben painkillers and something to help him sleep; and Minho, who had just got back from the Map Room despite not having run the Maze today.

Surrounded by my closest friends, I felt happy.

* * *

All too soon, it was time for my sentence.

"Come on, I'll take you to the Maze. East Door, to make things easier. Remember, Eli, turn left," Minho instructed in a low tone as, with a hand on the small of my back, he lead me towards the Door where all other Keepers were waiting.

I was shaking from head to toe as I walked beside him, "I haven't forgotten. I still have the maps."

"Good that," he murmured before stopping abruptly and making me face him with his hands tightly on my shoulders.

His deep brown eyes locked with mine, and at that single second all I could think about was how worried he was about me. All my friends had shown signs of worry, but his worry hung over me like a protective layer through which nothing could hurt me. At that moment, I had the insatiable urge to pull him in a hug but I restrained myself. Maybe it was just his way of being my friend.

I looked up at him like a daughter to her father, "Minho, I—"

"Just stay alive, Eli," he murmured pressingly, "stay alive and... run."


	8. 8 Into the Maze

**8\. Into the Maze** **  
**  
 _"Just stay alive, Eli," he murmured pressingly, "stay alive and... run."_

And so I did. As soon as the Door started closing, I ran in. It didn't feel much like punishment since nobody forced me to go into the Maze— not physically, at least.

At the first turn, I pulled out the map and started following the directions Minho gave me. He indicated dead ends where I might be safe and walls whose height was climbable. I would've had all my chances, in theory. If one forgot about the shucking Grievers.

 _The Grievers._

I hadn't seen one since Alby showed me through the lookout, but its sight haunted my memory.

My heart was pounding in my chest. It had only been ten minutes and I could already feel sweat trickling down my chest and back from both fear and the sudden exertion. I could feel my muscles tingling in my thighs and calves, and the map clutched in my sweaty palm was almost unreadable. I had to pause and tie my hair again, for it had come loose of its ponytail.

I had been running for hours, it seemed. The Maze had darkened after a few turns only, but I couldn't situate myself in the night. When I got to one of the safe points, I decided I'd rest a little before I kept on running. Staying in one place was a legitimately horrible idea, tantamount to suicide, but dying of exhaustion would be downright stupid. 

* * *

I regretted not having brought water... Was I allowed to? Maybe I should've drunk before coming into the Maze. My body had long since forgotten the mountain of cheese fries I'd had for lunch, and the map was useless in the dark. I had forgotten the flashlight in my cabin.

I changed the safe point in the Maze twice, going into the moonlight to locate myself on the map. I was in the very back of the section. There was no way out— then again, if there were, I wouldn't be here. I then saw a path which ended in a sort of cliff. I walked carefully over there, but decided against going too close. I wasn't here exploring.

Stretching my hearing, I couldn't distinguish any sound remotely close to me, so I walked to the nearest corner and curled, waiting. 

* * *

_"Come on, Eli, we have to find the way out!" A young boy's voice called me from ahead._

 _"Are you sure this is the right way?" I asked my voice so high and small I must've been eight or nine._

 _I was in a much shorter and much less hostile version of the Maze. I had a backpack whose straps were blue and trainers which fit me perfectly. I sprinted towards the turn my partner had taken and found him. He was the same height as me, dark-skinned, and had a serious look on his face. He must've been thirteen though, seeing the wisdom etched on his face._

 _"Alby, I think we're going the wrong—"_

 _I was interrupted by his finger over his lips and a sharp, "Shh... I hear something. Come this way," he hissed at me and ducked to the left._

 _I rolled my eyes and followed him, I didn't object because he was going the way I had planned. The only thing bad that would happen, if the teachers found us before we found the way out, would be no dessert at dinner. I had skipped dessert a little too many times, this week, so I wasn't planning on losing another one._

 _"You're going the wrong way again, I took it yesterday," I pointed out. Perhaps my own failure would help him see reason._

 _He shook his head, "No, I'm sure this is the way. Be quick, we're almost out of time."_

 _I sighed and followed him. My legs had started complaining, but I pushed myself harder. We had arrived in the outer rim of the small Maze when he turned to me, a triumphant glint in his eyes as he pointed towards the object of our quest. A light gray circle on the floor. A smile spread through my whole face as I jumped in, feeling the icy wave from my toes to my head._

 _I stumbled out of the door to cheers and a helping hand, "I knew you could do it, this time. Come on, we'll—"_

I gasped as I was jolted out of my sleep by the sound of knives sharpening to my left. To my horror, a Griever was going up the cliff and coming towards me. I took no time in looking at the beast as I ran towards my section, trying to lose it. I didn't hear the sounds approaching and, for a moment, thought I had really lost the Griever. That was until I realized I had forgotten the map next to where I had fallen asleep.

I groaned. _Who the shuck falls asleep in a situation of life or death?_ I mentally scolded myself as I ran and ran again, blindly this time. The sounds were approaching dangerously and I was growing more clueless about where to go.

I had gotten to a dead end which finished in one of the shorter walls. It would've been climbable if it had ivy, like approximately every other wall in the Maze, but it didn't. I looked for a way of going up and beyond this dead end but the wall was glaringly smooth. The Griever sounds were getting too close for comfort, and I still had no clue how to get away from this sticky situation.

 _Whirr. Click, click, click. Whirr._

My heart was pounding in my ears as I looked around frantically, looking for something that could help me. It was always in times like these that I noticed the most random things. And what little moonlight filtered from the folds of the Maze walls illuminated a sign that said: «World In Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department.»

I frowned. «World In Catastrophe»? «Killzone»? None of these sounded reassuring at all. Especially not the «Experiment» part.

Whatever thought was going to come next was shushed by the lethal proximity of the Griever sounds. I whipped around to find one facing me— or away from me, I couldn't really tell in the darkness. It took tentative steps towards me and I had the privilege to actually _smell_ it. It smelled of motor oil and something else, something familiar.

I didn't have time to try and remember where I had first smelled it due to the fact that the Griever was coming closer and closer, and I could _feel_ the remaining seconds of my life flashing before my eyes. I didn't dare breathe, I didn't dare swallow saliva, I didn't dare move a muscle. I hoped for a quick death. I closed my eyes, waiting for the reaper to come and take me.

But it didn't come.

I opened my eyes tentatively to find the Griever retreating. My eyes widened and I blinked several times. I could _feel_ the Griever inches from me only a few seconds ago. I should've died.

I waited for the Griever to take a turn before running in the opposite direction. The moon was high in the sky; I still had half the night to spend in the Maze. How was I going to do that? Maybe that Griever was blind. Maybe it couldn't smell me. Maybe it didn't hear my rasping breath.

Maybe it just didn't want to attack me. 

* * *

It had been a number of hours with no sign of any other Griever. Something felt off, why did the others make such a fuss about those machines when there was only one per night?

I stopped caring and wondering when I realized that I _might_ have a chance at survival if I didn't meet another Griever. Hope was a dangerous thing, but I was fairly sure I had my chances. I was only a few hours, maybe two or three, from daylight and it would be stupid to get killed only this close of being free again— as free as one could get in the Glade. 

* * *

Daylight, finally. I had gone into the outer rim of the section again and found the map. I studied it to find the East Door, I had heard it open only a minute ago, but the sound was muffled. I started walking, then. I figured I would be able to get to the Glade before the Doors closed again for the night.

Close to two hours later, according to the position of the sun, I was a quarter of the way towards the Glade. I felt exhausted and only wanted to find my hammock again— or better, one of the beds in the Medwing. I felt my muscles sore and my bones complaining as I kept an even pace during my walk. One thing I hadn't thought about was how hungry and thirsty I was. The first thing I would do, after sleeping, would be to prepare myself a good meal.

It was when I was close to halfway through the section of the Maze, at around noon, that I heard it. It was far away, and faint, but it was there. Heavy steps and breathing. Not minding the map anymore, I followed the sound. I wasn't sure it was Minho, so I didn't call out, but my intuition told me it was him. I had, almost unwillingly, started jogging towards the source of the sound. I followed the route from the East Door and, after five turns, I saw him.

Minho.

I slowed to a walk then. I couldn't believe it. I had done what no one else could, I had survived a night in the Maze— well, I couldn't be congratulated, and the only Griever I had seen barely sniffed me and went away. Seeing Minho meant I was safe. Safety was a long-forgotten luxury in my mind, last night.

I didn't think as I ran towards him and flung my arms around his neck. We were both breathing heavily, and I didn't know whose heart it was but I felt it hammering through both our chests. Something like a sob made it out of my throat as I tightened my grip and, after a few seconds, felt his arms tentatively wrap around me. I didn't know what I was crying for: fear, happiness, relief. It could've been any of those three.

I pulled out slowly, letting my arms around his neck while still feeling his around me, and locked eyes with him. My mind was blurry, hazy. I couldn't focus on his face or the emotion in his eyes. And I acted on impulse as I leaned close to his face and grazed his lips with mine. I heard his breath hitch slightly in surprise before his lips wrapped around mine, his arms tightening around me. My hands shifted to cup his jaw and the back of his neck.

I pulled out and rested my head against his chest, not daring to look into his eyes as I murmured, "Thank you."

"You made it," he murmured, "you shucking made it, I can't believe it."

"A Griever came to me but didn't do anything," I explained, still against his chest, "it was weird."

He exhaled sharply, "Maybe the Creators didn't want you dead..." Minho pulled away and wiped tear tracks away from my cheeks.

"When can we get to the Glade? I'm dying for a bed," I muttered, looking up at him.

"In a few, I just need a break, I ran faster than I usually do," he rasped as he went to sit with his back against the closest Maze wall.

We sat down and he gave me water and half an apple he had brought. I was ever so thankful for that. I rested my head on his shoulder as I waited for him to get back up, and didn't even realize I was falling asleep. 

* * *

"What'd you mean; a Griever sniffed her but didn't kill her?" Alby's voice jolted me out of my sleep. It came from outside of the Medwing.

"She fell asleep before I had time to ask her to elaborate," Minho explained, sounding irritated.

"Could you guys slim it?" Clint's voice asked, "She's catching up on her sleep just next door and you're not exactly quiet."

I could only imagine the look they gave him until Newt spoke, "He's right, you shanks can argue outside of here."

I didn't listen anymore as I felt a new wave of sleepiness taking over me, and I gave in... 

* * *

_I was in the same, smaller Maze. Alby was telling me to hurry, and I followed doubtfully. We found the way out, and that faceless boy congratulated me._

I woke up with a gasp before I could see his face, just like in the Maze. I looked out the small window next to the Medwing door and saw it was nighttime. I sat up and made to leave but a throat clearing stopped me.

"You're not leaving this room, Eli," I sighed and turned to see Clint.

"I need to shower, Clint," I moaned like a spoiled child.

"You need to regain your strength. Your vital signs were weak when Minho brought you here," he objected, using his most serious Med-jack tone of voice on me.

"Maybe because I didn't sleep or eat until Minho found me?" I asked sarcastically.

He closed his eyes briefly and sighed, "Please stay until I'm satisfied with you?"

I snorted, "You know, that sounded extremely awkward."

A grin split his face, "It's so good to see you alive. I must admit, we didn't have any hope for you. Especially when Doug saw the Griever through the lookout."

I shook my head, "It felt weird, you know? Absolutely terrifying, but weird. The Griever came inches from me but when I closed my eyes I heard it going away."

"You told Minho as much," Clint glowered at the floor, "it's weird, some people even got stung during the day. Minho's theory is that the Creators were against having you die..."

I shrugged, "Could be. Can I go shower now?"

"Wait until everyone is asleep. You'll answer their questions tomorrow at the Gathering," Clint announced grimly.

I groaned, "Another Gathering?" I was starting to hate those. Then again, the last one I'd been at had me sentenced to death.

"Yeah, what you were able to was unprecedented. We need to give it a serious thought." Clint explained. He pointed at a plate on the desk, "I got you dinner, thought you'd be hungry."

I smiled at him, "I like the way you think." 

* * *

Three hours later, I had eaten and told Clint all that had happened in the Maze— close to nothing apart from the Griever moment. I omitted the part where I had kissed Minho because... I didn't know why exactly, but I didn't want to tell anyone until Minho mentioned it or didn't.

I was now under the shower, enjoying the hot water and letting my mind wander. I came upon the story Newt had told me about the Dark Days, and how Stephen had changed after his days in the Deadheads. It gnawed at me; a person didn't just turn into an animal after a few days in the woods, or randomly go on a killing spree. There had to be a reason, _something_ that had changed him.

And my mind told me that thing was in the Deadheads.

I got out of the shower to find Minho sat on a chair, by the door. My heartbeat doubled in pace. I hadn't seen him since the lip lock and I was not ready to face him just yet.

I tried being nonchalant, though, "Well, ain't that an impression of Déjà Vu."

He chuckled, and my mind wandered to him pressing me close to his chest, "Clint said you were here. Thought I'd check on our little survivor."

I nodded slowly as I dried my hair, "I'm all right, oddly enough. Maybe a little sore, but that's nothing a night's sleep can't fix."

He pressed his lips together — _his lips on mine_ — and nodded, "All right. I'll uh... I'll escort you to the Gathering tomorrow." Minho stood up, taller than me even from a distance, "So good night."

I gave him a small smile, "Night... And thank you."

He smirked, "It was nothing."

He left, to my great distress. As much as I didn't want to talk about the kiss, I wanted him to at least acknowledge the happenstance. In a good way or in a bad one. I needed to know. I knew the only person I could talk about this to was Winston, but I didn't want to wake him up. I was left to over think about the fact until Morpheus took me in his arms and I fell into a deep sleep.


	9. 9 Council

**9\. Council** **  
**  
I was woken by a glaring light piercing through my eyelids. I flinched and flung my arm over my eyes, groaning at whoever had attacked my sight. Upon letting my eyes adjust to sunlight, I found it was not a single person but five people who were in the Medwing with me: Clint, Jeff, Frypan, Winston, and Newt.

"Good morning, you inconsiderate shanks," I greeted them groggily, "I still had a good four hours' sleep to perform."

"Sorry about that, but your Gathering's in an hour and you have to have breakfast," Newt apologized before smirking, "how're you feeling?"

I groaned, "Like murdering someone. I officially hate Gatherings."

"Makes two of us," Winston gave me a sympathetic half-smile.

Seeing him reminded me of that conversation I needed to have, "You and me, in my cabin after the Gathering."

Frypan raised his eyebrows dramatically, "Oooh, is there something you two might wanna tell us?"

I scrunched up my face, "Nothing of the sort, no offense Winston."

He raised a hand in acknowledgement, "None taken, although I'll try not to be heartbroken."

I pressed my lips together, "I'm sure you'll find it in you to forgive my coldheartedness, somehow someday."

Clint rolled his eyes, "If you two would stop your Shakespearean melodrama, you have food to eat and a Gathering to get over with."

I snickered, "Food. You know, the one thing I regretted most in the Maze was Frypan's food." I admitted, causing him to grin from ear to ear.

Newt scowled at me sarcastically, "Thanks. Your love for us is bloody inspiring."

I stuck my tongue out at him as I went over to the desk to start eating, "You know I'm just messing with you."

We continued talking, almost completely forgetting about the matter at hand, until a knock came at the door. It opened to reveal a peaceful-looking Minho who first sought out to the bed I had occupied during the night. And then he took in the ambience in the room and made himself at ease.

"Gathering starts in five minutes," he announced in monotone.

I groaned for the umpteenth time about the fact, "Can't I skip?"

Newt chuckled, "Afraid not. Come on, it'll be over with quickly." 

* * *

I wished he had been right. _Some_ Keepers thought it within their right to be late. Alby didn't omit to scowl deeply at Billy for his delay, as the latter puffed his chest and swaggered to his seat. I rolled my eyes and adopted the position I had had at my last Gathering.

"As everyone is _finally_ here, I declare this Gathering begun," Alby announced, not missing the occasion to glare at Billy again. "So we're here to see to the matter of Elizabeth surviving her banishment. As you all know, she's been banished for breaking our number one rule. We have never had this happen, so I'd like everyone's opinion on what we should do about her."

As per custom, Billy opened the festivities, "I suggest we send her into the Maze again. It may just be my job as a Bagger—"

"Or the fact that you're a shuck-faced douche bag," I muttered under my breath.

"—but punishment is punishment. Just because she did what none of us could, it doesn't make her special—"

"Dude, are you joking?" The Keeper of the Bricknicks —I really had to ask for his name— let out incredulously, "The least we could do is apologize for sending her to die."

"It's not your turn to speak, Alfie," Alby unconsciously answered my wish with a frown.

Billy puffed his chest again and gave me a defiant glance as he said, "There's something unnatural about her, she belongs in the Maze for the next few nights if she doesn't die in the next one."

I raised a challenging eyebrow, "If I didn't know any better, Billy, I'd say you're afraid of the unknown."

"Not your turn either, Elizabeth," Alby sighed exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose before narrowing his eyes at Billy, "she should be sent back into the Maze. Is that it?" Billy barely initiated a nod as Alby barked, "Next!"

Alfie stood up and faced me directly, "Eli, I'm sorry I voted for your banishment."

I shrugged, "Thanks, but I didn't die so it's only half-bad." I subconsciously locked eyes with Newt, and he flashed me a smile filled with pride.

"Still," he insisted, gaining my respect, "I think she should have something like a consolation price."

"Anything in mind?" Alby asked doubtfully.

Alfie pressed his lips together and shook his head, "Not right now, but when I get an idea I'll holler."

"Good that. Next."

Jackson delivered the same speech, stressing on the fact I had done what had been, until yesterday, the unthinkable. Frypan, with his customary wide grin, claimed that the only thing that they should ask from me was how the heck I had survived the Maze. Gally, in his warm-and-cold phases, stated he was not okay with what Billy suggested and that, having endured my sentence, I should just be left alone. Zart echoed Gally's thoughts, looking as bored as usual. Winston told us that I should tell them exactly what had happened in the Maze, which embarrassed me because I hadn't done anything heroic and I had had help from Minho, but I wouldn't tell them the latter.

When Clint's turn came, I flinched at what Billy might find to say about Clint and me again. I just hoped he would shut his hole, for once in his life.

"Look, guys," the Keeper of the Med-jacks began, "we know who sends the Grievers into the Maze. It's the Creators. If they kept her alive, then she must be important. So sending her back would only result in a waste of time. Might as well make her a night-shift runner if you're willing to send her back into the Maze."

"That's bullshit, Clint. We all know—"

"God, Billy, can't you slim it already?!" Alby growled.

"He's biased!" Billy protested, his tone much like that of a child throwing a tantrum.

"Really? Because I don't recall him interrupting you during your rant," Alby remarked with a hint of irony in his voice. I knew it was his job, but I rather liked his objectivity.

I turned to see Billy's expression and saw that his ears bore a hot pink color. Clint grinned, "So what I'm saying is we go about our business and see why the Creators didn't send her Grievers."

"Okay, next."

Minho stood up, quickening my heartbeat, "This is ridiculous. We should be congratulating her instead of wondering what to do. Yeah, she was sentenced and all that klunk. But for going into the Maze, one night in should suffice. What I recommend is having her try out as a Runner."

I hadn't realized I was gaping at him until I felt myself again. I did _not_ want to try out as a Runner, and he knew that. I gave him an incredulous look and he merely smirked, making my blood boil. Oh, he was going to pay for that if Alby took the same decision.

It was then Newt's turn to speak, "If, as Clint said, the Creators think that she's important, I suggest she becomes a member of the Council."

His statement rose a wave of discussion which Alby shushed, "Slim it, you slintheads! What Newt said actually makes sense. Instead of bowing to her or sending her to burn at the stake, we should see how we can profit from the importance the Creators have given to her." He turned to Minho, "No runner try outs, we already discussed that."

But the Runner's mind had already flown to another direction, as he frowned at the floor, "No, I actually like Newt's idea..."

"Yeah, but in what role?" Winston asked, "Keeper?"

Clint shrugged with his arms folded over his chest, "I wouldn't mind giving her my place."

I frowned and widened my eyes at Clint, "Hey, I can't have you fired because some people think I'm important."

"No one's getting fired, Eli," Alby informed me, using my nickname for the first time which had me giddy. "You'd be a member as your own self, no need to be in charge of anything. You'd give your opinion on the matters dealt with and slim it, like the rest of these shanks."

I nodded slowly, "Okay... Sounds good to me."

Alby nodded slowly and took a look around, "Okay. We'll vote on it, for or against having her join the Council? Billy?"

Apart from the Bagger, they all agreed on making me a member of the Council. At the end of the Gathering, I stood up and shook Alby and Newt's hands. Alby then asked me to say a few words. I was honestly petrified until I remembered they had all voted in my favor this time.

I tried facing as many of the Keepers as I could, avoiding Minho and Billy for obvious reasons, "I'm not gonna invent some heroic tale about how I survived in the Maze. Most of the night, I was walking or running until I arrived at a sort of cliff. There, after an hour or so—" I interrupted myself with a frown as flashes of the dream I had had came back to me, I caught myself and resumed my speech, "—so, after something like an hour I saw a Griever coming up from there. I ran. I ran as fast as I could until I got to a dead end. The Griever caught up with me and I seriously thought I was going to die. I closed my eyes, felt that thing come close to me— I could even smell the shank. And then nothing happened, it just went away like I wasn't there..." I trailed off, still extremely perplexed about the whole deal.

Billy groaned, "I don't believe it."

I closed my eyes briefly, to keep myself from swearing at him, and sighed, "Too bad, because it's what really happened."

"What did it smell like?" Frypan asked out of the blue.

I snorted at the randomness of his question, but answered nonetheless, "Like motor oil and... something. Something that felt familiar but I couldn't place it. I might've smelled it in the Medwing, I'm gonna do the inventory later and tell you."

"Was it fast?" Alfie asked rather innocently.

I shook my head, "Can't really tell, I only knew I had to get away from it."

It went on like this for maybe a few minutes, them asking every possible question and me answering to the best of my ability, until Alby called the Gathering to an end, welcoming me again among the members of the Council.

As I got out of the Council, my eyes fell on the Deadheads' thick woods and I had a sudden urge to explore every inch of that corner. I gave in to that urge, at first, until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"You said you wanted to talk," Winston reminded me and I nodded, wearing a frown.

"Yeah, right. I forgot actually, I..." I hesitated. I wasn't sure I wanted anyone to know what I was doing in the Deadheads, "I'm just gonna grab something to eat while we talk."

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk playing at his lips, "Boy talk?"

I rolled my eyes, "As if it weren't obvious, go ahead I'll join you in a few."

I didn't wait for an answer as I made my way towards the kitchen, where I found Frypan working on lunch. I knew he hated when others pillaged through his kitchen outside of mealtimes, though I didn't know how he'd take it coming from me. Whether I liked it or not, I'd always be treated differently from the average Glader. I nevertheless fixed my cleavage and untied my wavy hair, in case he'd say no.

I pushed the door to the kitchen open and drawled my greeting, "Hey, _Fry_..."

He looked up from the meat he was frying —I mean, I never cooked meat but I _assumed_ that it was—, and grinned at me, "Hey, Eli. What brings you here?"

"Oh you know," I smiled nervously, making him sigh. God, I was bad at this.

"Okay, what'd you want?" He asked, nonplussed.

I flashed him a toothy grin and leaned over like a little girl, "Can I have a sort of snack to take to my cabin?"

A look of understanding crossed his face, "Oh, for your date with Winston. I get it."

I rolled my eyes, "It's _not_ a date. I'm just probably gonna traumatize him with boy talk."

He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows, "And why him, especially?"

I walked close to the cook and smacked his shoulder playfully, " _Because_ he's one of the very few who never tried to hit on me."

Frypan chuckled, shoving me to the side with his shoulder, "Maybe he's just waiting for you to trust him."

I narrowed my eyes, "Can I get a snack or not?"

He nodded towards the fridge, "You're not a part-time cook for nothing. Although you might wanna tie that hair of yours, you're in a shucking kitchen not at a beauty pageant."

I puffed my cheeks and blew air upwards, moving strands of hair which were on my face, "Can't blame a girl for trying..."

He spoke as I was tying my hair into a somewhat tight bun, "So, do I know the shank?"

This took me aback and I nearly stumbled on my way to the fridge, "Wha— What shank?"

I heard him chuckle again, "The one you're gonna talk about with Winston."

I shrugged, trying and failing to be nonchalant, "You must know him, you know everyone in here better than I do."

"You know exactly what I mean," he implied condescendingly, "tell me or I'm gonna try to guess."

I scoffed, "Try all you want."

"Okay, is it Clint?" He began and I rolled my eyes at the obvious guess.

"Nope," I answered as I started making sandwiches, "can I have some of the meat though, for Winston's sandwich?"

"Sure, here," he said, sliding me a full plate across the table, "is it Newt?"

"Nah, we're just friends," I denied, "thanks," I added, spreading cream cheese on the slices of bread.

"Welcome... So, who's left?" He asked.

"Who's left of what?" I asked back.

"Of the band you spend the most time with," he acknowledged before snapping his fingers once, "ahh yes, Minho! Is it Minho?"

The name snapped me back to reality. The butter knife I had been holding fell from my fingers but I, for once, kept my cool, "No. No, it's not him."

"Hmm okay, Gally?"

I scoffed, "I barely even talk to the shank."

"Don't tell me it's Billy," he ironized.

I actually gagged at the thought, "Oh please. It's not even funny," I muttered as I finished the sandwiches, "well, I'm all done here. And your time's up, shank."

"There's only two left," he remarked, "Alby and me, so: Alby?"

I shook my head, "No, it's not Alby. I mean, I literally see him like a father or something."

He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, although being Frypan, I knew it was good-naturedly and in no way perverted, "Maybe me, then?"

I wanted to stay stoic but my face broke into a tiny giggle, "Sorry, Fry. No offense, but no."

"Okay, so you lied about one of them," Frypan stated determinedly as he turned off the stove.

"Yep! Good luck figuring out which one," I taunted as I left. 

* * *

Winston and I ate silently at the table which was in the front room of my cabin. He thanked me for the sandwich and we spoke in snippets while eating.

Winston leaned back on his chair and sighed, "So, who's the lucky shank?"

I blushed at that and looked out the window, "It's uh... It's Minho."

He raised an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest, "Something happened in the Maze?"

I wetted my lips nervously as I glanced at him, "Well..."

And thus was the beginning of my awkward tale of kissing Minho as soon as I saw him. I felt my cheeks burn as Winston bore a sort of wicked smile when I mentioned the liplock.

When I was done, he leaned over the table, looking like a businessman about to negotiate a contract, "So, you kissed the shank and apparently enjoyed it. What's the problem with that?"

My lips parted in outrage, "I never said I—"

He snorted, "You didn't have to, it was written all over your face."

I groaned in frustration, "You're not helping, Winston."

He placed a hand over his heart, "All right, I'm sorry. I still don't get what's wrong, though."

I bit my lip as my heartbeat quickened, "Well, he didn't mention it ever since. I mean, it's not like he _has_ to, but I at least want acknowledgement, be it good or bad. Otherwise I'm left to wonder if I should take the first step or not and it's frustrating."

"Look, I've known Minho for as long as I came up the shucking Box. If he wants to talk about that, he will. Otherwise you'd just bug him," Winston spoke seriously, "and if you bug him, you might lose him. I'm not trying to scare you, Eli, I just don't want you hurt over something like that."

I frowned, "I know, thanks Winston," I muttered, my gaze fixed on the empty plates.

He smirked, "Was he good, though?"

An unwilling smile split my face, "Very..." I suddenly felt the need to switch the conversation, "How about you and Jeff?"

That, to my satisfaction, made the Slicer blush, "I— I uh, he—"

I pressed my lips together to avoid smiling too widely, "Hey, relax. I'm just me, not the Spanish Inquisition."

He shot me a condescending glare, "Well _'Just You'_ is gonna have to wait because there's nothing happening between Jeff and me."

"Yet," I completed, raising a sly eyebrow.

This seemed to cheer him up, at the smile he was trying to hide, "You know, it's much more difficult for me to get things going than it is for you."

I pursed my lips sympathetically, "I know... It shouldn't be, I mean it's just as natural."

He scoffed, "Yeah, right. Try and explain _that_ to those shanks out there."

This got me thinking, "Hey, are you sure Jeff er... Has the same tastes as you do?"

He shrugged, "He didn't seem disgusted by physical contact that didn't involve a punch, like they all are, so I guess it's a start. And he likes to spend time in the Slaughterhouse, it's actually his second job."

I hadn't noticed I was smiling widely until I had to speak, "I guess you already know, but try to go easy on him all right? This might freak him out more than you think, because you're already used to it."

"I know my klunk, thanks very much," he smirked, "otherwise I'd have jumped him already."

My jaw fell and my brow furrowed in outrage again, "Winston Slicer, that is not a way to address a lady!" I exclaimed in a high voice.

He laughed out loud and placed his calloused and scarred hand over mine, "I apologize deeply for this, Eli."

We continued talking until the Closing of the Maze Doors. We got out, him taking the plates to the kitchen and me making my way towards the Medwing to check on Ben, whom I hadn't seen since before going into the Maze. There, I found Clint and Jeff making the inventory or something.

"Hey, shanks," I greeted them before locking eyes with my Keeper, "where'd you put Ben?"

"He's in the Homestead, on his hammock. You'll find him next to the Builders, he usually sleeps there," Clint answered, "says you're a better Med-jack too, I'm gonna start getting offended."

I rolled my eyes, "If you could be gentler, the Glade wouldn't complain about your healing abilities. I'm gonna check on him, tell Alby to give me back my keys to the closet when you can, all right?"

He chuckled, "Do it yourself, you have the same rank as me now."

I nodded and made my way towards the Homestead. I guided myself thanks to the fire which illuminated most of the hammocks and eventually had to ask Alex for the direction towards Ben's. The former runner was swaying idly from side to side, his eyes focused as though he were in deep thought.

I announced myself by sitting on the hammock next to him, which was empty, "Hey there."

He glanced at me and bore his trademark smirk, which reassured me, "Oh, look who finally decided to check on her patient after two days."

"A lot happened in two days," I let a smile take over my face.

His eyes narrowed and his voice was suddenly husky, "So I've heard. People are saying you're some kind of hero."

I blew air through my imaginary bangs, "You shouldn't believe all that people say, Ben."

He raised a doubtful eyebrow, "So you didn't survive a night in the Maze?"

"I did," I admitted, "but it's mostly luck and the fact that Grievers seem to have a penchant for guys rather than girls."

"Lucky shank," he spat, mock-sourly.

I readjusted my position on the hammock I occupied, "So, how are you feeling?"

"Leg still feels like it's on fire, otherwise I'm all right. Clint didn't change your bandage, and I'm glad he didn't. Winston is gentler with his beasts than Clint is with his patients," Ben complained.

I nudged his shoulder, "Stop complaining, you'd all have lost a limb or two without him. You're just comparing him to me, and that's very subjective."

He smirked, his eyes studying my fire-illuminated form, "Maybe... I don't see a problem with that, though."

I raised an authoritative eyebrow at him, "Ben, the way you're looking at me creeps me out and I demand that you stop."

His face broke into a chuckle as he reached on the opposite side of his hammock, pulling a jar with an amber liquid in, "Sorry, it's one side effect of this. Here, have some."

I eyed him and the liquid doubtfully, "What is it?"

He shrugged, still trying to hand me the jar, "Gally mixes some of the alcohol the Creators send and it gives you this. Don't abuse though, cause you'd wake up with a hammered head."

I accepted the jar and smelled the liquid it contained first. I could only discern whiskey, among other things, and thought why not? I took a tentative sip, which burned through my throat and chest, making me grimace. I gulped another set of sips as I got used to the liquid and started feeling it working its magic. I had a weird feeling of anticipation, like something interesting would happen at any second, and meant to drink some more when Ben took the jar from me.

I frowned, "Hey, I was enjoying that!" I protested.

"Sure you were. But it's too much for a first time, and you nearly finished my jar," he explained, patronizing me, "if you like it so much, get your own tomorrow night."

I frowned at the sky, seriously considering his offer, before the most random thing crossed my mind, "Um whose hammock is this?"

Ben gave my seat a look before nodding towards the fire, "Gally's, he should be coming in a few minutes with a few jars in his system. I suggest you don't see that," he advised, "you never know what a drunk shank might do."

I felt uneasy at the thought and stood up, "You got your dinner?"

He nodded, "Yeah, Doug brings me my meals."

I nodded as I started leaving, "Good that." Although, as I tried to leave, I felt him grab my wrist. I turned back to him, "What is it?"

He had a serious look on his face, "I didn't... I didn't try to kill myself in the Maze. I only wanted to climb that wall because I was tired with running the shucking section each time."

I pressed my lips together, understanding, "All right... Afraid you're not gonna be a runner anymore."

He shrugged, "Some vacation would be welcome."

I gave him a half-smile, "Focus on getting better, then we'll see."

"Good night," he bid.

"Night, Ben," I acknowledged with a lazy wave as I left. 

* * *

The next morning, I woke up in my cabin and found the door to my room open, whereas the door to the cabin was closed. I frowned. I usually made sure to close both doors, and I could distinctly remember closing my bedroom door.

During breakfast, I had the same uneasy feeling of being observed from afar. When people asked, I just brushed it off. I had other things in mind, for today. Today, I had the firm intention to go and explore the Deadheads. And I'd preferably go alone, I didn't want to tell anyone what I was doing just yet.

I made a detour by the Medwing first, to get a pair of rubber gloves in case something were poisonous at touch only. I knew some frogs had poisonous skin, and I wasn't risking it. I had tucked the ankles of my pants in my boots and worn my full-sleeved flannel shirt. I couldn't do anything about my face, but I didn't mind.

I was about to leave the Medwing when the door opened to reveal the last person I thought of seeing.


	10. 10 Research

**10\. Research** **  
**  
Minho smirked, "Ah, just who I was hoping for."

I raised an eyebrow as I shoved the gloves in my pocket, "Not sure how I should take this..."

"I need one or two painkillers for my run, Miss War Hero," he mused.

I half-smiled at the nickname, "Okay, for what use?" I asked, feeling for the key around my neck, which Alby had given me back at dinner.

He rolled his eyes, "Medicinal. I sprained my wrist a few weeks ago and it's been complaining ever since."

I pulled out another pair of gloves and gestured towards the nearest bed, "All right, have a seat."

He merely raised his eyebrow, "Sorry, what?"

"I know you didn't get it looked at, and you overworked it from the looks of it. Take that leather mitten of yours off so I can see the damage done," I ordered uselessly.

"You know, I need to be on schedule," he looked me down condescendingly.

"The Doors aren't open yet, come on it'll only take a minute," I pleaded, since authority had no effect on him.

He sighed and went towards the nearest bed, already taking off his makeshift bandage, "How's it been since the Maze?"

"The usual, apart from a few questions and stares," I answered as I studied his bruised hand, I grimaced, "you should've come here first thing after the Map Room when it happened, this might get infected with the cut."

He shrugged, "I cleaned it best I could."

"But you still put that filthy bunch of leather back on, so it was useless. I'll clean it, make you a decent bandage, and only then will you have painkillers," I explained as I fetched the items I would need.

"Could you make it snappy?" Was the only thing he had to say.

I rolled my eyes, "You won't be so smug if it comes to bed rest."

"It's a wrist, not a leg," he remarked.

"If it gets infected and you catch some virus, it will be bed rest," I assured him as I started cleaning the cut.

After that, I worked silently, keeping my eyes on my work despite being incredibly aware of his eyes on me. My nose thought it a good idea to pick up his scent, and my fingers to linger on his skin through the rubber of the gloves. I could've slapped myself, I needed to stay professional. And he wasn't making it easy, either. Did he _have_ to smirk?

Did he have to break silence with his husky murmur? "So, are you gonna mention it or not?"

I took a brief look at his deep brown eyes, "Mention what?" I hated myself for my small voice.

I wasn't looking, but I could _feel_ him raising a challenging eyebrow, "Do you want me to spell it out?"

I cursed the smile that took over my face, "No need, I think I know."

"Well then," he said expectantly.

I started bandaging his hand as I murmured, "What's there to say about it?"

I could feel the smirk on his lips — _his lips_ — as he murmured huskily, "Lots, I'd say."

I let a nervous chuckle filter through my lips as I tried to focus on being gentle and accurate, "Go ahead then..."

I did not expect him to raise my chin with his forefinger so our eyes locked, "Why did you kiss me?"

I licked my lips nervously, "I— I uh... I just wanted to." I immediately looked back down at my work, which I noticed was sloppy, so I restarted the bandage.

"Sure," why did he keep murmuring? "and what next?"

I lifted my eyes towards him, pausing in my tracks, "What's that supposed to mean?" I had regained some of my composure, though I could still feel my cheeks burn.

He swiftly extracted his hand from mine and finished off his bandage, "I have this policy that says: What happens in the Maze stays in the Maze. So I guess it should apply to everything."

I nodded decisively, "Excellent policy. It was impulsive anyway," I assured him as he stood up, surveying my smaller frame with a smirk.

A tense silence then settled, with the pair of us keeping eye contact. The morning light filtering from the windows brought out his dark brown eyes, so much so that I could see how dilated his pupils were— and I assumed mine mirrored his. We only dared to break eye contact so we could analyze each other. I had the privilege to face his chest, discreetly heaving up and down under his shirt. The veins on his neck were ever so slightly pulsating, which made me want to caress him there. His lips... His lips were perfect, they had tasted sweet and were the softest thing that ever touched my own.

At the moment I licked my lips, he shook his head and hissed, "Shuck it." before grabbing my face and filling the gap I had been feeling ever since I got out of the Maze.

I immediately flung my arms around his neck and, to my great surprise and drawing a yelp from my throat, Minho leaned down to grab the backs of my knees, draping my legs around his waist. My hands travelled at the back of his neck, over his jaw, scraping at the scalp of his jet black hair. I could feel his large hands roaming over my hips and thighs, and at some point, his teeth scraping my bottom lip. I slipped my tongue over his lips and he granted access, letting our tongues dance in a heated tango. The only sounds emitting from us was our ragged breathing, and that of our clothes brushing against each other...

Minho led us towards the desk, where he made me sit. I broke off the kiss and started it again. My nails scraped his neck, just below his left ear, drawing a feral growl from the depths of his chest as he renewed his grip on my thighs, pulling me closer to his body.

His kisses had started travelling down my neck and collarbone when we heard it. Brief, and decisive.

 _Boom._

The Maze Doors started opening, giving us a harsh landing back into reality. We detached ourselves from one another and smoothed our clothes and hair. I avoided eye contact by going to fetch his painkillers. I had thoroughly enjoyed this moment, but I couldn't face him just yet.

I handed him a box of pills, "One before meals, I trust you won't abuse them."

He took the box from my hand and smirked, "It's like you don't know me."

Before he left, he cupped my face and planted one last, soft kiss on my lips. He then walked away, leaving me flustered and with more unanswered questions than I had started the day with. 

* * *

It was two hours later, in the Deadheads, that I regained my full focus and grip on reality. I had slipped on my rubber gloves and was facing the first object of my research: the lake. It was small, yet could accommodate an aspiring swimmer. I started my research here for the simple reason that I guessed Stephen would've found refuge near water, purely on survival basis.

My first thought was about an animal, like the Grievers in a smaller and less impressive shape, but then I realized he could've been infected by a plant, moss that grew on trees, mushrooms, or even the water that constituted the lake. I was going to need a good few months before I found what had caused Stephen's pseudo-Changing.

I wondered if he had regained any of his memories, as Clint told me every guy who had undergone it claimed to remembering snippets of their old lives. I couldn't exactly ask him now, could I?

Upon contemplating the lake, I realized I was going to need proper swimming attire after having analysed the water and made sure it wasn't poisonous. In all the time I had been in the Glade, I never heard about anyone fishing in the lake. I was going to have to investigate with Newt and Winston, the latter since he was in charge of the animals.

Thinking of animals made me also realize I had no idea how the poison worked, and so that I would need guinea pigs. I wondered whether my fellow Gladers would lend their bodies to science, though I immediately brushed off the idea.

A twig cracking behind me made me whip around. I had grown suspicious of my surroundings since I found my bedroom door open, this morning. And I was still completely certain of having closed it before going to sleep. I scrutinized the woods beyond the lake, but could find no movement. I decided to follow the sound— I would _not_ be snuck up on.

More twigs and dry leaves cracking took me towards the corner of the South and West walls. On my way, I could see and feel how beautiful the Deadheads were and was momentarily distracted. Until I arrived at the centerpiece of the southwest corner of the Glade: The graveyard.

There were no gravestones, just wood crosses with carved names, placed haphazardly on a few yards of grass. Among the names I could see George and Alan, and, sitting in front of a lopsided cross, was Alby. I announced myself by taking noisy steps towards him and kneeling next to him. The cross he was facing, oddly enough, was Stephen's— although it was badly carved, with the 'n' being the only lowercase letter, as though the carver had badly estimated the space for the name. It also proved that it was hastily done, otherwise they would've just carved another piece of wood.

"Newt told me you wanted to know about the Dark Days," Alby stated his greeting in monotone.

My mouth gaped, fishing for words, "I uh... He— He told me all I needed to know."

He then turned to me, "Said you were curious about what may have turned Stephen into what he became before cracking it."

I nodded, "Yeah, but I haven't given it much thought, lately," I lied, hoping he wouldn't ask further questions.

I looked up at him and he raised an eyebrow, "What are you doing in the Deadheads then?"

"I uh... You know, exploring. Taking a breather," I murmured in a small voice.

He smirked and tilted his head towards my hands, "With rubber gloves?"

I grimaced, "I'm a neat freak?" I offered, knowing he knew what I was up to.

He exhaled sharply from his nose, "Don't go telling people what you have in mind, most don't know about what happened that time. They think Minho's emotionlessness is just a façade."

His mention of Minho reminded me exactly _who_ sent Stephen and George six feet underground, and exactly who I had been making out with. I tried hiding my shudder as I asked in barely more than a whisper, "How did he do it? How did he kill them?"

I had turned my focus towards the graveyard again, refusing to face Alby when he said it, "I wasn't there. There was no blood when I found the bodies, though." His tone was curt and I knew I ought not to ask further questions on the topic.

"Who carved the names?" I asked, trying to gently switch the subject.

He drew in a sighing breath, as though he had a thousand better things he could be doing, "I think, if a shank kills another, it's his responsibility to bear with the work it entails. I think you know that banishment is the sentence for that, but it's the final step of the punishment. The convicted must first clean and bury the body, and then he spends weeks in the Slammer to think on his actions fed with only bread and water and no visits. And then he gets banished."

I frowned, "Was it the case with Alan?"

I heard his clothes shift as he nodded, "Yes it was."

I pressed my lips together, "It's uh... It's a wise punishment process."

He scoffed, "You didn't seem to think so when you were banished."

I gave him a sideways glance, "For saving a life instead of taking one? It's pushing it too far."

"These shanks gotta learn to follow order. Order, Eli. It's the only thing that matters in here," he pressed, his hands closing into fists, "it's the only thing that keeps us from collapsing again..." Alby trailed off, letting a heavy silence set in.

A thought hit me suddenly, "Alby, can I ask for something?"

He turned to me, "Depends on what it is."

I looked up at him, "I don't want Greenies to know I survived a night in the Maze." I didn't let him reply as I elaborated, "They'd underestimate the danger in there, and I'd be treated differently. I mean, I know I always will if no other girl comes up, but it'd be much more consequent."

He seemed to ponder over the thought before nodding slowly, "I see what you mean. I'll tell Keepers to tell their workers. No need for a Gatheing for this. You can tell them too, you know?"

I shrugged one shoulder, "I wanted your blessing for it and, to be honest, the thought just came to me."

He chuckled and stood up, "Don't stay here during the night."

I stood up as well, "Why not?"

He tilted his head and grimaced, "Not alone then."

I pressed my lips together and nodded, "Okay. See you around."

He was already on his way towards the Glade as he raised a lazy hand in farewell. 

* * *

I spent the next few days in the Deadheads from the Opening of the Doors to their Closing, rarely having lunch. Questions about my activities started at around the fifth day of my scientific escapades and I'd always answer: "Research." when asked about what I was doing, and to the next question I'd say: "I'll tell you when I find it." with a decisive tone. I was soon frustrated with finding nothing. I decided I'd look into the lake last, since I had no goggles or anything remotely useful to swim in.

Upon asking people, I found the water wasn't poisonous since the rodents of the woods drank it, and that there was no fish in it. I also inevitably came upon the Beetle Blades which, Newt explained, were there to spy on things happening in the Glade. He also said no one had ever been able to catch one. This egged me on, because what deadly creature would let itself be captured? My first subject of analysis would be a Beetle Blade.

The idea of cameras spying on the Gladers brought about the memory of Minho and me in the Medwing. What if a Beetle Blade was nearby while we..? I tried shaking off both the thought and the memory. The thought because the idea of having been spied on was degrading and irritating. The memory, and if I had had a girl friend I was telling this to she would've gasped her lungs in, because I had been avoiding him ever since.

I always went out of the safety of my cabin after he got into the Maze, had a quick breakfast and helped around for lunch, got in the Medwing to see if I had anything to do, and around an hour before lunch I'd run in the Deadheads until nightfall. Then, I'd linger at the edge of the woods, waiting for him to go into the shower. When he did so, I'd run to the kitchen, hiding my hurry behind tiredness, grab dinner and take it to the cabin.

Winston, upon witnessing my avoidance ritual, took me apart one day before I ran into the Deadheads.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" Winston asked, stopping me one step away from penetrating the woods.

I shifted on my feet, I was a bit late already, "Mind talking in the woods? I'm running late today."

"The shuck are you doing in there anyway?" He scrunched up his face, although he joined me in slow steps.

I had already established a favorite place to work in, where I had more chances of catching a Beetle Blade, and so I took him there as we talked, "I told you, I'll let you know when I find it."

"So you don't even know what you're looking for?" Winston asked doubtfully.

"I know, I just thought I wouldn't give people hope or dread until I was sure my suspicions were correct, and Alby thinks the same," I explained, pushing a branch out of my way and his.

He shrugged, "Good that. Anyway, that's not what I came here for. Why are you avoiding us all?"

I was taken aback by the accusation. I stopped walking and faced him, "I'm not avoiding anyone. My work is just taking up all of my time. You never accuse the Runners of avoiding you, and I show up about as much as they do."

He raised a challenging eyebrow, "At least, the runners know we've had a new Greenie for two days now."

My lips parted and I was going to come up with a witty retort, but it got lost as I realized he was right, "I may have spent most of my days in the Deadheads, of late."

He pressed his lips together sympathetically and placed his hand on my shoulder, "Take a few days off, all right? Starting tomorrow."

I gulped hard and nodded. I turned on my heels, "I have work to do, then, if I'm not gonna be working for two days."

I could feel the scowl on his face as he said, "You've been working non-stop for nearly fifteen days, you should rest for at least five days..."

"Three," I negotiated, keeping my pace towards my clearing.

"Four," he tried, making me stop again and sigh.

"Okay for five days, but I'll check on the Deadheads twice a day," I bid, turning to witness his approval.

"Okay, but remember the Slaughterhouse has a view on here and I'll know if you transgress," he mock-threatened.

I rolled my eyes, "Yes, all right. I have a klunk load of sleep to catch up on anyway."

He scowled at me again, "You're overworking yourself. You'd be all over the place if it were one of us instead."

"Your work is more physical than mine," I countered.

He gave me a condescending glance as I realized we had stopped walking, and so resumed our route, "Really? Is that why you sweat more than a shucking runner?"

I rolled my eyes, "I'll pretend there was no insult in there, somewhere."

He chuckled, "Just promise you'll take those days off, all right?"

I nodded and sighed, trying to be reassuring, "Yes, yes, I will." He kept staring at me expectantly, so I added, "I promise. Happy?"

He smirked, "Much."

He then left towards the Blood House. I immediately got to work, setting up traps and doing my daily research on plants and wild fruit. Like in my first visit, I heard a twig crack to my left. The lighting under the thick trees was dim, and so I couldn't distinguish more than a few meters away. Although, with the panic this unusual sound brought up, I felt a newly familiar fear creep up my neck.

These last few weeks, I had found my bedroom door open about four or five times more. Only my bedroom door, as though someone wanted to let only _me_ know they had been into my privacy. I was starting to have the uneasy feeling that I was being watched during my sleep, and it felt dreadful to not be able to feel safe in the closest thing I had to a home.

I had been considering asking for a lock to be placed, but what if it was one of the Builders? I had my suspicions set on someone, but accusing him would make me biased even to my own eyes. It could've been anyone, and that was the terrifying part.

I looked around, uselessly since I couldn't see past the first trees surrounding the clearing. I suddenly regretted not having any means of defense, and realized I couldn't ask for any since the Gladers weren't supposed to harm one another. _Well, someone isn't following the rules around here,_ I pondered sarcastically, in an attempt to quell my nervousness.

"Who's there?" I called out, cursing myself to Hell and back for the shaking of my voice.

I heard another twig crack and a rustle of leaves as a response. I suddenly felt fenced in, with just the clearing to be able to bear my surroundings. I took off, sprinting in the opposite direction of the sounds yet towards the Glade. During the past weeks, I had learned the ways across the Deadheads from the inside out, and so I took shortcuts which weren't obvious ways. Blocking out the sounds of my breathing, my stomping steps, and nature; I could distinctly hear another set of steps and a ragged, obviously masculine breathing.

I made the mistake of risking a glance over my shoulder, which earned me a low branch on my left temple, sending me toppling over as though I had been thrown. I quickly scrambled up to my feet, not feeling any pain yet from the force of the adrenaline. This lapse, unfortunately, gave my chaser enough time to catch up with me and grab my arms behind my back in an iron grip. At that moment, I heard two noises, and I didn't know which one could classify as worse than the other.

The first was mixed with a sickening feeling inside my bones. My right shoulder was dislocated from my assailant's strength, and I distinctly heard the crack and felt the bones jostle inside of my flesh, the latter being the only link left between my arm and my shoulder.

The second and, now that I gave it a thought, the most terrifying, was a sadly familiar voice, "Finally, I thought I'd never be able to get you alone."


	11. 11 Safe

**A/N: Hey, first of all I thank everyone for the reviews, favourites, and follows. This first author's note is to give... well not exactly bad news but not good news either. This is the last chapter for a while because I'm sort of stuck and I want to have at least something like five chapters ready in advance to keep a steady flow. The pause could go from two weeks to a month so if you want a PM when next chapter is posted, just holler all right? By PM or by review, it's as you prefer. Again, thanks so much for your reviews, they give me life. X**

 **EDIT: This is both an edit and a warning for the contents of this chapter. There is violence (not going to call it rape, though it "almost is") in this chapter (this chapter only, so far) which might offend some readers. Starts from the first scene until the mention of the Bloodhouse.**

* * *

 **11\. Safe** **  
**  
 _Billy._

I could feel myself shaking from the fear he inspired me at that moment. I was wounded, defenseless, and naturally, physically weaker than him. I didn't stand a chance against him, and we both knew that.

He pulled me roughly against his chest, making me yelp involuntarily, and rasped his hot breath against my left ear, "You look even better awake, do you know that?"

It was not meant to be a two-way conversation, for the simple reason that I was utterly petrified. The only thing I could do was breathe. My heartbeat quickened, until all I could feel in my chest was a dull sort of pain. My previous wounds started kicking in, the one in my temple burning, and the one in my shoulder heaving waves of nausea and throbbing monumentally across my right side.

"Come on," Billy shook my body sharply, drawing another yelp, "where are your witty retorts now, huh? Show me how smart you are, go ahead."

I bit my lips, blinking back tears, and drew in a shaky breath, "It's easy for you to brag, you're in a position of power."

He growled, though it sounded like satisfaction, "Ahh there she is. What's she gonna say now, huh?"

I was breathing hard by then, "Let me go, and I won't tell anyone," I swore, and I really wouldn't. I didn't want to be the center of attention again.

He pulled me closer to his body, where I could feel his sick arousal in the waist region, and hissed, "Trust no bitch, they say. And you're no different."

I held back a sob, although a snippet of voice made it out of my throat, "Please, Billy."

"That's it, beg," he encouraged me, jostling my limp arm and my functional one, "not so shucking gloating now, are you?"

At that moment, thank heavens, we heard steps behind us. He hissed in what seemed to be disappointment and shoved me roughly away from him, sprinting away probably as fast as he could.

I was left to cope with the happenstance, sat with my back against the closest tree. I couldn't go back to the Glade in this state, I wouldn't be able to lie about the situation and I wanted _no one_ to know about it. I only wanted to forget about everything pertaining to the experience.

A sudden thought wormed its way into my mind: _What if he came back for me?_ I quickly scrambled to my feet and found they, unlike my upper body, were perfectly functional. I sprinted towards the closest place I thought was safe: The Bloodhouse. How ironic, really. My right arm was hanging loose and I used my left hand to try and keep it somewhat up, it made my dislocated bones brush, producing a nauseating vibration through my upper body.

"Winston!" I called out, I hated sounding desperate, but it brought him faster towards me. His apron looked like it had never before been white.

His eyes went wild at my sight, "What the hell happened?!"

I quickly remembered the story I had come up with on my way here, "I tried catching a Beetle Blade and ran into a tree. I dislocated my shoulder, put it back in place."

He took off his apron and ran his fingers through his hair in panic, "How do I do that? I don't know how, I'm not a shucking Med-jack!"

I bent my arm and handed him my wrist, "You grab my elbow and pull it up as high as it can go. Be sharp, be precise." I ordered immediately, merely obeying a hunch since I never had to relocate shoulders —or any other type of articulation— before.

His panic quelled a little at my now-steady voice. He grabbed my elbow with his right hand, and my wrist with his left. He faced my right side and—

A sharp yell had made it out of my throat before I even knew what had happened. My shoulder was back in place and I was feeling pain more accurately now. I hung my right hand on my left shoulder and, with every release of breath, wailed unwillingly. The pain was unbearable: like I was going to give birth to Griever twins out of my armpit. It burned and froze at once, both feelings sharp.

"How the heck could you run so hard into a tree you dislocated your shucking shoulder?!" Winston yelled at me, his face red.

I glared at him, "Don't you think I'm in enough pain right now, you slinthead?!" I yelled back, my tone more venemous than I had intended.

He pursed his lips, a frown still crowning his eyes, "I'm sorry. Let's get you to the Medwing."

He placed a hand on my back, which I shook off. I had forgiven him, Winston was the closest thing I had to a brother, but the prospect of another Glader laying a hand on me made my whole person shatter. I was going to need help, eventually. I decided I'd deal with it when the occasion came, though.

As soon as I got into the Medwing, Clint scurried towards me and placed his hand on my back, between my shoulder blades. I shook him off as well with a groan and went to grab the pieces of cloth that would serve as a sling for my arm.

"What happened?" Clint asked, his voice raised in worry.

"Could you stop yelling? I'm not dying, but it feels like it— Aah! Where's the shucking scissors?!" I yelled at him too.

I was in no mood to be smothered in their lovey-dovey worry and friendship. They could save their hugs and kisses for when I didn't want to obliterate the whole male population. I measured the cloth roughly with my left hand and sat on the second bed.

"You're gonna need help with that," Clint spoke calmly, "you can't wear a sling on your own."

My blurred mind took this as a challenge, so I bit back, "Watch me."

I may have had to gulp down my pride and disgust to ask for his help, but I wasn't one to change my mind. I held one end of the cloth with my right hand, over my left shoulder, and then with my left hand I reached behind me to drape the cloth around my right forearm. I then measured how high it ought to hold, and set on tying it using my left hand and my teeth. In other circumstances, I would've shot Clint a victorious grin, but now I just went over to the closet to tend to the scratch on my temple which had caused my near-demise.

"Need help at all?" Clint asked tentatively, probably sensing that my anger was not meant to be directed towards my friends.

I frowned, "Bring me Gally, and don't show that I asked for him."

"What?" Winston breathed, abashed.

"Just go get him," I heard Clint hiss as I started cleaning the blood that had run down the side of my face.

Although, almost as soon as the Slicer left, he came back, "No way I can get Gally, everyone's asking why you yelled in the Bloodhouse."

I was halfway done cleaning my wound when I groaned, "If you want a shucking thing done well..."

I trailed off, scoffing and sighing as I made my way outside. The door to the Medwing was close to swarmed with Gladers. They, upon seeing pure anger on my face for the first time, parted like the Red Sea. I looked for Gally among them, but didn't find him. I did run into Newt, though.

"Hey, I heard you yell in the Slaughterhouse, wha—" he cut himself off upon noticing the sling, "What happened?"

"I dislocated my shoulder," I answered, regretting not having taken painkillers before leaving. I grimaced as I fixed my position in the sling, "Look, it's not against anyone but I don't wanna talk. Just tell me where the shuck Gally is."

Newt frowned and inhaled, about to speak, when he was interrupted by a much deeper voice I was thankful to hear, "No need to look for me, I'm here."

"Good. Meet me in the Medwing during dinner, don't go telling people," I ordered, letting a frustrated sigh escape my lips.

I didn't wait for an answer as I made my way back to the meeting place. I slammed the door behind me and stomped towards where I knew medication was. I opened the box, dry-swallowed one pill, and then read the note accompanying the medicine. I skimmed over the side-effects and found what I was looking for: Somnolence.

I shoved the box in my left knee pocket and pulled the zipper. I then, paying no heed to my surroundings, went straight for the kitchen. I needed to find coffee. Sleep was now utterly out of the question, since I couldn't ask for help without having to justify myself.

I opened the door to the kitchen, pausing for a second to avoid using my right arm, and greeted Frypan coldly, "Hey, where's coffee?"

He hadn't looked at me, busy with placing the lunch dishes in the dishwasher, and by the looks of it he didn't know what all the other Gladers were probably gossiping about, "Top shelf, I think there's a box left. Why?"

"To drink, I thought it'd be obvious," I spoke as I followed his directions.

He then looked up and noticed, "Hey, you're bleeding. And is that a sling? What happened, Eli?"

"Long story short, I ran into a tree and dislocated my shoulder," I muttered as I poured water in a mug, "and I need coffee to avoid sleeping or else it might get dislocated again."

I was placing the mug in the microwave as he spoke, "Did _you_ run into a tree, or did it beat the shuck out of you?"

I rolled my eyes before snorting, "Hey, that's funny. Thanks, Fry, I thought I was gonna have to murder someone."

He eyed me doubtfully, "You're welcome... I guess?"

I nodded, leaning against the worktop upon which the microwave was whirring, "Yeah, they all made a big deal out of it and you actually just made me laugh. I think I'll stay in the kitchen while getting better."

His eyes travelled to my left forearm and he gestured towards it, "Where did that bruise come from?"

I frowned and blinked once, "What bruise?"

He nodded towards my left hand, "That one, on your arm. You didn't notice it?"

I lifted my limb in front of me and found, to my horror, a bracelet bruise. If it had only been a shade darker, I would've been able to distinguish individual fingers. I painstakingly used my right hand to unroll my left sleeve, looking away from the cook for I wasn't certain I'd be able to hide the imprint of what had caused my injuries.

"I don't know where I got it," I mumbled, buttoning my cufflink to avoid having the sleeve slide back on its own.

"What'd you mean, you don't know? Didn't you feel any pain?"

 _Yes._

I turned to scowl at him, "Try and run into a tree, then we'll talk about it."

He was going to reply when the microwave rang. He paused, and then spoke as I poured instant coffee in the hot water, "Okay then. Get well, all right?"

I pressed my lips together, trying to smile but to no avail, "Thanks. I'll have dinner with everyone, no need to send food to the Medwing."

I then retreated towards the Medwing, where a silent Jeff was sorting through the rest of two days ago's supplies. I sat on the bed and sipped silently on my coffee.

It was nearing three hours of tense silence, my company alternating between Clint and Jeff, when I was left alone for the first time since I got my injuries. I had rolled down my right sleeve as well, at some point, to avoid any further interrogations about the bruises.

The aloneness in the Medwing started engulfing me. The sounds outside seemed so distant, I feared if he came for me I wouldn't be able to call for help— even if they were next door, I wouldn't be able to, period. In case of immediate danger, I found I lost my vocal abilities.

The moment I decided to leave the place, the door flung open to Minho nearly ramming into me, "Er hello?" I greeted sarcastically. My awkwardness regarding our make out session was gone by now, replaced only with disgust towards men.

"I get back from the Maze and you're in pieces, what happened?" He asked, not bothering with the niceties.

I rolled my eyes and sighed, "I ran into a tree, all right? No big deal, I'll be good as new in a month."

He raised a doubtful eyebrow, "Okay, and does that tree have a name?"

I placed my left hand on my hip and raised patronizing eyebrows at him, "You name trees, now?"

He scoffed, looked out the door, and closed it. He stomped towards me, and I took several steps back, "Listen to me, Eli. I know Newt told you some of what I did in the Dark Days. Killing Stephen and George was just the worst of it, I got into several other fights."

I frowned at him, "Okay, you have testosterone. What about that?"

He narrowed his eyes at me condescendingly, "Elizabeth, I know which injuries are accidental and which are caused by other shanks. Frypan spoke of bruises on your arm. Show them to me."

I ground my teeth together, "No."

His frustration grew with my refusal, "Eli, show me your arms!" Minho hissed.

I took an involuntary step back, "No, why would I do that?"

His face softened, "Please," he murmured, barely hiding his wince at using this foreign word, "if I see they're not familiar, I'll leave you be. I'll accept your excuse that you ran into a tree or whatever the shuck. But if you were attacked, you need to tell me who it was."

His protectiveness and rationality brought up a feeling of weakness within me, and I wanted so to punch myself when I felt tears burning my eyes, "I don't want you to see."

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply for five distinct seconds. I understood he was trying to quell his anger, at whom, I didn't know. "Who did this to you?"

My bottom lip quivered, and my voice was shaky as I murmured, "N— No one."

He ran his hands through his hair and face madly and turned around, emitting a frustrated groan, "For God's sake, Eli, I can't protect you if you don't tell me against whom!"

I couldn't help the tears that flowed over my cheeks then, "Then don't. No one asked you to protect me, or be any kind of knight-in-shiny-armor. I can take care of myself, I just didn't have any shucking weapons." My voice was all but convincing, yet did transmit the message that I wouldn't be telling him my assailant's name anytime soon.

My words, it seemed, hurt him. He looked at me pleadingly before taking slow steps towards me, "Eli, I know we haven't talked since that morning in here. If I gave you the impression that I didn't care, or—"

"You didn't," I replied in a small voice, "we were both working, it doesn't matter. I wasn't hurt or anything, I'm a big girl I can take refusals and that kind of klunk."

He pursed his lips, "It wasn't a refusal."

"I know."

He walked until he was barely inches from me and cupped my face. It took all my willpower not to flinch back, "Then tell me, Eli. I want to protect you. As strong as you might be, you still need protection against those savages out there."

I didn't have a retort to that. He was right, and I hated it. I bit my lips briefly before wondering whether I was pushing away my only chance at ever feeling safe again. These weeks working in the Deadheads had me miss him terribly, and I didn't know if I would be able to kiss him again with the same feelings. I wanted to try it again, to see if I would be able to _feel_ for him as I once had.

My left hand rose slowly to cup his cheek. My tearful eyes never left his indulgent ones before they closed and our lips connected. As I had feared, the contact felt off. I had no warmth spreading within me, no goose bumps, only the physical contact which wasn't enough to quell my fears. I broke off the kiss three seconds later, my hand on his chest and my eyes still closed, with more tears coming out.

"I know you only want to protect me, and I appreciate it Minho, I really do," I murmured, "but if I'm not able to protect myself I'll always be hiding behind people."

He placed his hands on either side of my face and rested his forehead against mine, "Be reasonable. Just this once, Eli. Who did this to you? Tell me or I'm gonna try my guess."

This made my eyes snap open and my hand unconsciously fist his shirt, "You can't. Don't... Don't get in trouble for this, it's not worth it."

He chuckled and pulled away, wiping tear tracks away from my face with his thumbs, "'Not worth it,' she says. Right."

I placed my hand on his cheek again and ran my thumb across his cheekbone, "You already saved my life once, Minho," I murmured, locking eyes with him, "your duty's fulfilled, you don't have to worry about me anymore."

He pressed his lips together, suppressing an argument, "You know where to find me, if you change your mind."

"Thank you," I murmured fervently, squeezing his right hand and feeling a squeeze back.

He then came to my right and draped his arm around my shoulders, careful not to touch my right one, "Come on, dinner must be ready."

I followed him numbly around the Glade, barely feeling the looks the Gladers were giving Minho and me. They all must've thought we were in some sort of relationship, and I found myself wondering if we were until we got to the kitchen area. It was bustling with boys all around, as usual, but now it felt overwhelming. Like he could pop out at any moment. I unconsciously drew closer to Minho, who ever so slightly squeezed my left shoulder.

We arrived at a table at which were sitting Newt, Alby, Winston, and Clint. I sat on Newt's left, with Minho on my own left. Suddenly, I felt safe among my closest friends. Like even if he came to me, I wouldn't fear him.

Of course, I didn't know karma would take me up on my words, as I heard his now-familiar steps coming towards our table. I eyed the otherwise delicious meal that had been brought for me with disgust, and pushed the plate away.

"Hey, what happened?" How dare he pretend to be worried? How dare he speak to me?

I glared up at his heartless eyes and pressed my lips together, "Just ask the next shank, everyone must know by now."

He came behind Newt and me and leaned close to me— too close for even Newt's comfort, "I just wanna make sure you're safe."

I shuddered at the proximity and had the reflex to close my fingers around my fork, "I am. I'm safe, why would I not be?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe some shank might think you're easily approachable now that you can't use your good arm," he implied, before placing a cold and slightly wet hand on my back.

I subconsciously drew closer to Minho, who hadn't budged an inch, "Okay, you can go now."

"Billy, what the bloody hell are you on about?" Newt asked, frustration audible in his voice.

"Nothing, I'm just worried about our pet, like everybody around here," he explained, raising innocent hands.

My eyes were trained on my food, which I was now sure would not pass my throat, as I felt the tension rise at our table, "Bill," Alby's voice growled, "if what I'm thinking is correct, the best thing you can do is slim it and not get near here for a while."

"Especially if you want to keep the use of your legs," Minho spoke for the first time through gritted teeth.

I blocked out the rest of the conversation and turned to look at Minho. He had fury in his eyes, and his fists were closed so tight he was shaking. I risked placing a hand on his right fist and caressed his knuckles with my thumb, feeling that they had once been broken.

From what little attention was left of my surroundings, I knew Billy had gone away and a tense silence had settled at our table. Alby and Newt were eyeing Minho with barely concealed worry, as though they feared he might put an end to Billy's life in the next ten minutes. From what I knew about Minho, he might.

I angled myself towards him, acutely aware of our friends' gazes on us, and kept caressing the back of his hand with my thumb as I murmured, "Minho, please calm down."

He directed his glare towards me, making my blood run cold and my ministration to his hand stop at once, "You've got to be shucking kidding me."

I ground my teeth and pressed my lips together, "Please," I repeated, "he's not worth it, you're better than this."

He scoffed and chuckled darkly, "You say this like you know me."

"I know you as a person, not by reputation. You can't lower yourself to his level," I urged, not realizing I was squeezing his hand.

He half-smiled, somewhat sadly, "Look who's being a hopeless romantic now."

I exhaled sharply from my nose, amused, and leaned my head against his shoulder, "Just eat your dinner, big boy."

"You too," he muttered, shoving a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth.

I sat back up, "I know I should, but I'm not hungry. I will, eventually, I can't take the painkillers on an empty stomach."

Clint frowned, "Which box did you take?"

I squinted, trying to remember, "The blue one, I think. Hold up," I added as I fetched the box from my pocket, it turned out to be green, "the green one."

His frown deepened, "You should be sleeping like a rock right now, it's part sedative."

I jabbed a finger at him, "Not when you chase it down with coffee."

"I thought you had sleep to catch up on," Winston murmured doubtfully, "you said so in the Deadheads, right before you came to the Bloodhouse with a dislocated everything."

I shrugged my left shoulder, "I'll catch up on it later."

Clint, sensing I wasn't very fond of the topic, smirked, "On a much lighter note, don't you two have something to announce."

I pretended to check my belly and shook my head, "Nope, why?"

He chuckled, "Half the shanks are envious of Minho right now."

"Like they weren't before," I rolled my eyes, suddenly very aware of Minho's smirk on me.

"That was a compliment, wasn't it?" He asked, his smirk audible in his voice.

I nudged him, feeling my cheeks heat up, "Yeah, I do that sometimes."

The conversation went like so for the whole meal. In the end I ate all of my spaghetti and took a painkiller afterwards. On my way back to the Medwing, I was caught up on by Gally. I considered finding somewhere private to talk to him, but I shrugged off the thought.

"I'm gonna need a lock on both doors of the cabin," I requested, looking up at him hopefully.

"Okay, why?" Gally asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Pretty please?" I asked in a small voice, flapping my eyelashes like bird wings at him.

This made him snort, though he was serious again, "I need a reason, Eli."

I rolled my eyes, "Like dear old Billy said, now that I'm incapacitated some shanks might think it a good occasion to try their luck."

He frowned, "It's against the rules, everyone knows that."

I smirked and patted his arm, "I'm still here, aren't I?"

He exhaled sharply from his nose, "All right, I'll see what I can do."

"Don't go telling people, it's all I'm asking," I instructed.

He had a curious look on his face for half a second before nodding, "All right. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

I bid him good night and jogged towards the cabin. I wouldn't be sleeping there, but I needed to fetch that large t-shirt that was sent up the Box a few weeks ago and which I claimed, for it was comfortable to sleep in; and the shorts I received in the trunk upon my arrival. All while being in the cabin, I had the uneasy— 'uneasy' didn't even begin to describe the feeling that crept up my spine. Like I might die, or worse, at any given moment of solitude.

I made my way towards the Homestead and up the only room whose owner would be friendly enough to show me to Minho's room.

"Hey Newt," I greeted him through the open door.

He looked up from the knife and the piece of wood he was sculpting and smiled, "Hey, Eli. You all right?"

"Pretty well, considering I have a useless arm," I joked, widening his smile, "say, where's Minho's room?"

He frowned in amusement and jerked his thumb behind him, to my right, "Right next to mine. Why?"

I gave him a sly smile, "Oh you know... Stuff."

"Try not to be noisy, people actually sleep in here," he called out as I followed the direction he thumbed.

I knocked thrice, softly on the closed door. I waited approximately five seconds before it opened to reveal a slightly disheveled Minho wearing a no-longer-white, large t-shirt.

I bit my lip, "I'm sorry, were you asleep?"

He ran a hand through his hair and murmured groggily, "Was gonna be, why?"

I chewed on my bottom lip nervously, "Can I... Can I sleep with you until I get a lock on the cabin's doors?"

He chuckled lightly and widened the opening to let me in, "Welcome to Paradise, Miss."

I got in, taking in the sleepy ambience, and turned to him, "Minho, by sleep I do mean _just sleep_ , I trust you know that."

He gave me a condescending glance, "Try to run a shucking section every day and think about other than sleep and food when you get back."

I chuckled shyly as I heard the door click shut, "I um... Thank you."

He let himself fall on his bed, "But thank _you_."

I frowned, "How many shanks sleep in beds?"

"Three," he didn't need to think before answering, "and those in the Medwing."

I nodded, I could easily guess who the three were. I then eyed my flannel shirt disdainfully, "Shuck." I murmured.

"What is it?" Minho asked sleepily.

"I uh— I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm going to need help with taking off the shirt and pants," the words were out of my mouth before I even considered the ideas he might get from that.

I turned to him immediately as I heard him stand from his bed. I suddenly felt self-conscious about my body, and extremely shy around him.

He faced me, "How can I help?"

"Hel— Help me slip off the sleeves, hold up I'll unbutton it," my voice was small and hesitant as I scrambled to undo the buttons with my left hand until I felt his warm hand on my left shoulder. I looked up.

"I won't try anything, Eli. I'm only here to help, right now. It's not even the moment to be thinking about this," he murmured with all the seriousness he could muster.

He then started by untying the sling, telling me to hold myself with my left hand. He set on unbuttoning the shirt, a serious and nearly professional frown on his face all along. Even though he showed some interest in peeking at my chest, I still felt safe in his hands. He grabbed the sling and tied it back around my neck, I was surprised at how much better it felt than the one I had tied with my teeth and left hand. Minho dressed me back, then, starting with my head and then my left arm.

He looked at his work and seemed satisfied. His room was one of the rare to have a lightbulb, and so he grabbed my left forearm and ran his thumb over the darker bruise, "I still wish you'd tell me who it is, although I think I know now."

I pressed my lips together, "I think I can wear pants on my own, you can go to sleep I'll join you when I'm done."

Of course, he wouldn't have it. He helped me dress into shorts, managing to avoid staring at my underwear area, and then turned off the light. He placed his hand on the small of my back and directed me to sleep on my left side, with his chest against my back and his muscular arm around me.

"Minho," I murmured after a minute of lying down, hoping I hadn't woken him again.

"Yeah?" He responded, wide awake.

I gulped hard, the memories of today swarming me and bringing up every negative feeling along, "I... Can I— I mean... Thank you."

"Can you what?" He asked in a murmur, his lips close to my ear.

I drew in a shaky breath, "Can I cry?" I choked on my words.

I could've sworn I felt him tense at my strange request. He left it unanswered for a while before tightening his grip and whispering, "Let it all out, Eli. You'll be stronger in the morning."

My reply was muffled by a sob. Then two. Then a continuity of cries, gasps, and hiccups. All the while, I felt Minho either tightening his grip or running his hand up and down my form in an attempt to relax me. From time to time, I'd feel him press his lips against my right temple and it'd send a new wave of sobs. Finally, after about ten minutes, I calmed down. My left hand found his and intertwined our fingers together.

Just then, something I never thought I'd say made it out of my lips. And the best part was that I wouldn't have stopped it if I could. It seemed to take him aback though, and I wasn't interested in the reply. I just wanted him to know.

"I love you, Minho."


	12. 12 Drunken Confessions

**A/N: Guess who's back? So I haven't written as much as I thought I would, but I thought the pause had lasted long enough. So (second time, hoping for no third) I hope this meets your guys' expectations and speaking of which, the part read by Newt here is from Great Expectations and which you can find on YouTube spoken by Thomas Sangster. All right, have fun and thank you all for your support. X**

* * *

 **12\. Drunken Confessions  
**  
I slept like a rock that night. Given what I had learned about nights in my cabin, I should've been paranoid. I should've kept my eyes and ears wide open. I didn't know whether it was the painkillers or the safety that Minho inspired me, either way I slept like a baby, barely feeling the pain in my shoulder.

I was woken by a thumb running across my cheek and a soft whisper, "Eli, you need to wake up now."

My eyelids fluttered open to find Minho crouching beside his bed, "Morning." I murmured groggily.

A small smile graced his lips, "Morning. Thought I'd wake you before I left, also because I need to help you dress up."

I responded to the smile with one of my own and used my left arm to lift myself to a seated position, "Good that."

He seemed hesitant as he pressed his lips together and surveyed me, "I told Newt to stay with you today. I don't trust Billy around you, Eli, and I don't want you to stay alone while I'm in the Maze."

His utterance of the name snapped me back to reality and I scowled, "You hired a babysitter for me?"

He grimaced and tilted his head to the side, "Well I didn't exactly _hire_ him, since he's not paid to do it. I just wanna make sure you're safe until you tell Alby that he's the one who hurt you. At best, he'll be banished and you won't have to fear... you won't have to fear human contact again."

I frowned, "I don't fear human contact, I just don't like crowds. It's one of the main reasons why I liked hanging out in the Deadheads these past weeks."

He gulped and stood up from his crouch, "I had Newt watch over you while I went to get you more practical clothes for your sling."

I chewed on my bottom lip before saying, "I'll keep the shirt on."

He frowned, "Why?"

I inhaled deeply before biting my lips and looking down at my left forearm. The bruises had darkened to a sickly shade of purple, and the hand marks were distinct. I choked ever so slightly at the sight, yet I was sure he heard it.

"I'm gonna kill that son of a—"

"No, you're not. Minho, I know Alby won't blame you because he knows you from the Dark Days or whatever the shuck, but the others won't see you the same. Most of them don't know what happened, you can't—"

"I don't give a shuck how they see me. At best they'll know not to harm you," he growled, pacing across his room.

"And how I see you?" I asked in barely more than a whisper.

He stopped pacing, facing away from me and his joined hands hanging from the back of his neck. He gave a long sigh before turning around, "Come on, you need to get dressed. The Doors will open soon."

I didn't object to the topic switch as I stood up and helped him dress me to the best of my ability. My shoulder had started throbbing at some point, but I ignored it— or tried to. The pain was more considerable than I thought it'd be. Like yesterday, Minho didn't linger on my nearly naked body as he dressed me.

Once I was fully clothed in a black tank top and my open shirt, I stopped him from leaving the room, "The Doors open in thirty minutes..."

"Yeah, just enough to have breakfast and leave," he frowned.

"Minho, I—" I interrupted myself to draw in a deep breath, "about what I said yesterday, right before falling asleep—"

His lips parted and color rose to his cheeks, "Listen, I—"

"No, it's okay. I um... it must've been the painkillers, but it doesn't mean that I... you know, I like you," I tried explaining my point but only ended up confusing the both of us even more. I pressed my lips together, "It came out of its own accord, all right? I like you, I do, but that's about it on my side."

He frowned, as though he were trying to understand a language he had long since forgotten, "Er okay. Yeah I like you too. Guess that's a good start."

I snorted, "Yeah, I guess so."

While I was talking, I kept facing his chest and rearranging the collar of his shirt with my left hand. He used his forefinger to lift up my chin and leaned in. His soft lips, still swollen from sleep, greeted mine in a delicate peck. I kissed him back as softly as I could, my hand inching its way up his neck. He caught my lips between his again, more deeply this time, and his hand went to the small of my back. I stood on tiptoes to meet his kiss, and ran my fingers through his hair.

He broke off the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine, "The Doors will be open soon, we should be having breakfast right now."

I gave a breathy chuckle, "Isn't this exactly what we're doing?"

A chuckle vibrated through his chest as he murmured, "Oh don't tempt me, Elizabeth."

A shy smile took over my face, "I like you using my full name."

He leaned down, grazing my lips with his, and breathed, "Elizabeth."

I captured his lips in mine feverishly, feeling his hand on my back pressing me close to him.

After a minute, I was the one to break the kiss as I caressed his cheek, "We should go now."

He laughed lightly, "Caught up, have you?"

I chuckled and shoved his shoulder playfully. We then made our way downstairs, towards the kitchen. Upon seeing that Billy was awake and in the kitchen, at a table with the other Bagger and some Builders or Bricknicks, Minho snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. All along the way to our table, I could feel Billy's stare on us.

I was taken out of my thoughts by Newt's greeting, "Good morning, lovebirds. Slept well? Or at all?"

I frowned through my blush, "Of course we did, you were next door."

I raised his eyebrows meaningfully, "Yes I was, that's why I'm asking. For all the years I've been here, last night was the only one I didn't hear Minho snoring like an engine."

My frown deepened, "You snore?" I asked, turning to look at Minho.

He scratched his brow nervously, "Yeah, it may have to do with the fact I didn't sleep of my back, as usual."

Winston raised a malicious eyebrow, "Sure. And how did you sleep last night?"

Minho smirked, "Very well, if you must know."

I rolled my eyes and started eating, "When you guys stop acting like pre-teen girls, let me know, all right?"

Clint snorted, "Like you're not blushing your skin raw."

I tossed a bread crumb at him, "That's because I just woke up, you shuck-face. How come they're nearly all awake before the Doors opened?" I asked, seeing the unusually busy kitchen area.

Newt scrunched his chin and shrugged, "Dunno. It's good that they finally learned to wake early, bloody slintheads."

My eyebrow twitched, "Sure."

That was when Alby joined us. Seeing how close Minho and I were sitting, he raised a patronizing eyebrow, "I do hope this thing of yours won't influence your work."

 _Boom._

Just then, the Doors started opening. Minho was done eating already, so he stood up and wore his backpack. Before he left, he leaned down and kissed my forehead. On his way to the East Door, he tapped Newt's shoulder and the latter nodded minutely before breaking into a smile directed towards me.

"Ain't that cute," Winston smirked at me.

I raised an eyebrow at him, "Do you really wanna go there?"

"Go where?" He asked challengingly, although I could see color rising to his cheeks and ears.

I snorted, "How's it been these past few days?"

"The usual," he drawled, "we lacked a feminine aura, though."

I gave him a half-smile, "Sure you did."

"Seriously though," Clint pressed the Slicer's point, "we saw the runners more often than we did you."

"Yeah, I've been told that already," I brushed him off, "tell me about that new Greenie, what's he trying out today? It is a he, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Clint groaned, "I mean, it's not that you're bad but another girl would be welcome."

I rolled my eyes, "Sure, so that you shanks swarm her now that you know how girls react to your klunk."

The conversation went on like that until everyone was awake and fed, and it was time for work. Turned out Greenie was trying out as a Med-jack today, and he was bulkier than Jeff. As I saw him, I most didn't want him to get anywhere near injured Gladers. He'd cause more harm than good and, according to Winston, Greenie liked blood.

Around lunch, I was with Newt and Winston, having decided to avoid the Medwing for the day when Gally and Alby joined us.

"Gally says you wanna have a lock in your cabin?" Alby stated, sitting in front of me.

Newt frowned, "A lock?"

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep, silent breath, "So much for not telling people, Gally."

"Alby has to know about major changes," Gally stated, somewhat apologetically.

I gave a frustrated sigh, "It's a shucking lock, not a request to join the runners!"

Alby locked eyes with me, "Tell me why you want it."

I looked away and gritted my teeth, "It's my business."

"Anything happening in the Glade is my business too," Alby stated, still searching my eyes for a kind of confession.

"I want the lock to feel safe during the night and to not have to sleep with Minho every night until I'm healed," I stated.

"Was he that bad?" Winston snorted, making me smile involuntarily.

"No, it's not that. I just... I just don't wanna disturb him, I mean it's _his_ room." I tried justifying myself before scoffing. This was useless.

"It doesn't matter," Alby said, "they can't hurt you, it's against the rules."

I chuckled darkly, "Sure, the rules."

Alby leaned over the table, a serious look on his face, and spoke in a low tone, "Unless, as we all think, you didn't run into a tree."

I lifted my eyes from my plate slowly and glowered at him, "No one." I articulated every phrase, "Did this. To me."

Alby leaned back and gave a long sigh, "Definitely not a tree."

I closed my eyes briefly. Aside from the topic, my shoulder had started throbbing almost unbearably. I reached in my pocket and dry-swallowed one of the last pills, I only had maybe four or five left. How did they get from half a box to five? I shrugged off the thought and chased the medicine down with water.

I suddenly had an idea and stood up. Newt was finished eating and so he followed me to the kitchen. There, I raided the fridge for alcohol. I found it easily, two bottles of whiskey, three of tequila, three bottles of something like Scotch, and a large bottle of vodka. I lifted a bottle of whiskey and smirked at Newt triumphantly.

He raised an eyebrow, "At barely two in the afternoon?"

My shoulders slumped and the amber liquid in the bottle sloshed as it went down, "Talk of a killjoy. There's no specific time to drown out your sorrows. Take one of Scotch and let's go to my cabin."

He frowned then, "Eli, I'm not exactly sure—"

I cut him off with a condescending glance, "I'm nearly out of painkillers and my shoulder is throbbing more than my heart is beating. Please bring a bottle and let's get drunk together."

He seemed to ponder over the thought for a second before hissing, "Shuck it. The Creators send these once a week, they won't mind being short three bottles." With that, he grabbed a bottle of Scotch and one half-full of tequila.

I smirked and meant to leave when I saw him grabbing glasses. I scoffed, "Who the shuck needs glasses? We're gonna finish them anyway. Unless you doubt your drinking abilities?" I added slyly, making him react.

An hour later, in the living-room of my cabin, had Newt and me playing «Never Have I Ever». He had the tequila bottle and I had the whiskey.

Our laughter dying down, it was my turn, "All right, all right. Never have I ever..." I trailed off, thinking about what I could ask, "Kissed Minho." I finished, snorting at my own statement. I knew it wasn't really funny, but thought it would be if I added my drunken snort.

He snorted and screwed the cap on his bottle, "Sorry, love, I don't swing that way."

I felt my whole face heat up, I undid the cap of my bottle and took a swig, the liquid had long since stopped burning my chest, and all it did now was smooth the edges of my vision. "Your loss, he's really good."

He chuckled. He looked kind of attractive with a few drinks in his system— or in mine. I was starting to think of him as more than a friend, with my alcohol-drenched brain. His dark brown eyes darted from me to the window overlooking the Glade behind me. He looked deep in thought, and for some unknown reason I didn't want him to be focusing on other than me and our drinks. It might've been selfish, or out of fear, but I wanted his mind to stay in the room with me.

I snapped my fingers, "Wake up, lad. Your turn."

He chuckled at the reference to his accent and his eyes, unfocused, started squinting at the label on the bottle. He toyed with the cap as he drew in a breath, "Never have I ever..." Newt trailed off as well before frowning briefly and clenching his eyes shut as though to clear his vision. "Never have I ever remembered anything about my life before the Glade."

I blinked unintelligently, "I uh... You can't ask me to say that." I protested.

He kept a steady gaze on mine as he undid the cap of his bottle and took a swig, grimacing at the taste, "Aren't you thirsty?"

I pursed my lips and drank as well. It felt sour this time, and had nothing to do with the drink. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," I challenged, all jokes aside.

His eyebrow twitched and he smirked, "It's the stupidest thing to remember out of every other memory, really." Newt rearranged his position on the chair and looked out the window, a serious look on his face, "I was in an armchair, barely younger than I was when I came up the Box, in a living-room with a window overlooking a busy street. It's sunny outside, and some children are playing and overall just screaming. But inside, it's quiet. I'm not alone though, for in my arms are two things. A book, forgot the title; and a little girl, with bright blonde hair and big hazel eyes. She must've been six or seven, and looking at me intently she urged me to keep on reading her favourite part.

Newt paused, his eyes filled with tears, and took a long swig of the Scotch which had until now been ignored. He drew in a sharp breath and continued, somewhat shakily, "She didn't speak, I never heard her voice. But I knew I cared for her more than anything. And the silliest thing is that I remember every bloody word I read to her. It's... It's horrible to remember details as useless as a bloody story, but not the name or the voice of that little girl."

I looked on, completely shocked, and if I had been sober I'd have kept silent. But in my drunken awe, I murmured, "You had a sister..."

His elbow was on the table and his fist hid his mouth, with his nose resting on the knuckle of his index finger. He sniffled but hid it behind a wave of coughing. I could feel tears prickling at my own eyes at the thought. The thought of having so much taken away from us was heart-wrenching. I bit back my own tears and took several swigs of the quarter-filled bottle of whiskey in my hand.

He sighed deeply, "Need I ask that you don't tell anyone about this?"

I nodded quickly, drawing a headache that made me wince, "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

He exhaled sharply from his nose, though it sounded more like a snort, "Thanks. I believe you have something to tell me."

I squinted at first, and then nodded vigorously, "Right, memories. Erm mine is about me and Alby, though we were much younger. He must've been thirteen or something and I was eight or nine. We were in a miniature version of the Maze, running it and trying to find a way out. I remembered that if we didn't find it and a teacher found us first, we wouldn't have dessert as a punishment— or the dessert was a reward, it depends on the point of view.

"And then he went a direction opposite what I was thinking, but it worked out. There was a gray circle on the ground and we jumped in. Then a boy," I paused and took a frustrated swig before facing Newt, "That boy is the bane of my existence. He congratulates me and gives me a hand up, but I can never see his face. He feels familiar, but for the life of me I can't recognize him."

Newt had an analytical frown on his face then, he had subconsciously leaned over the table and seemed to be trying to solve the enigma to the Maze. "Your dream stops always before you can see his face, right?"

I had been glaring at a corner of the room, his words though brought my attention to him, "Yeah. How'd you know?"

He directed his frown to the view from the window, "Because as soon as I say the last words of the story, someone comes in the room and the girl jumps off of my lap. She runs to greet the person, and she's happy. I don't even know if it's a man or a woman, I just feel their presence."

I leaned over to take the tequila from his hand and he moved it away, "Come on, I need something stronger!" I whined.

He chuckled, "It's your first time getting drunk, you wouldn't fit yourself in bed if you tried. Tequila alone is too strong for you, just stick to whiskey or Scotch."

I pouted, "You're mean."

He snorted, "And most importantly, I don't want Minho to tear me a new one if you find yourself with a nasty hangover to nurse."

I snorted as well, "Minho would tear you a new _what_?"

He gave me a condescending glance, "You know what."

I raised my eyebrows, as though I had understood, and murmured, "There's other people he might tear a new one to."

Newt glowered towards me, though the negativity wasn't for me as I felt, "Eli, why won't you tell us that Billy did this to you?"

I frowned at him and sighed. I grabbed the bottle of Scotch, "To think I was enjoying myself..."

He licked his lips and straightened his position at the table, "No but seriously, the bloody slinthead's going about, free. If only you told Alby, or me for that matter, explicitly. We can't go against Billy on a hunch, maybe we've got it all wrong and you're hiding the identity of your assailant for some jacked reason."

I pressed my lips together, "Tell me the story," I spoke suddenly, knowing my words at the same time as he.

He blinked at me and frowned, "Sorry?"

"The story you tell your little sister in your memory. Tell it to me," I pressed on.

He pursed his lips, "Why would I do that?"

I gave him the hardest look I could muster, holding his gaze, and spoke incredibly steadily, "You want me to dig up something painful, you have to do the same. Tell me the story."

He glared at me, and for a moment I thought he'd refuse. But his voice was strong and surprisingly expressive as he began the story, "In an armchair, with an elbow resting on the table and her head held in that hand sat the strangest lady I have ever seen— or shall ever see. She's dressed in rich materials, satins and lace and silks. All are white. And her shoes were white. And she had a long, white veil depending from her hair. And she had bridal flowers in her hair, but her hair was white. Some bright jewels hung on her neck and on her hands, and some other jewels lay resting on the table.

"Dresses, less splendid than the dress she wore, and half-packed trunks are scattered about," he paused and picked up, adding to the mood of the narration. And for a minute, I completely forgot how painful this must've been for him. "She hadn't quite finished dressing, for she had but one shoe and the other was on the table, next to her hand. And her veil was but half arranged—" a sound outside covered his speech for a little while, but I didn't ask him to repeat, nor was he going to, "—and some lace for her bosom lay with those trinkets, and with her a handkerchief and gloves and some flowers, and a prayer book all confusingly heaped around the looking glass.

"That wasn't within the first few moments that I saw all these things, though I saw more of them in the first few moments than might be supposed. But I saw that everything within my view which ought to be white had been white long ago—" another auditory nuisance cut off his speech, "—into yellow. And I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had withered like the dress and like the flowers. And there was no brightness left but the brightness of her sunken eyes. And I saw that the dress had been put upon the rounded figure of a young woman, and the figure upon which it now hung, loose, had shrunk to skin and bone. I should've cried out if I could..."

I had completely forgotten why I had asked him to tell me the story by then. Newt had this talent with diction and oral speech, he had me utterly mesmerized by his telling of the story. I wanted him to tell me more, to tell me another story with just description.

I suddenly remembered the pain he associated with this story, and felt guilty for bargaining with him in such a way. I pressed my lips together and placed a hand on his when a loud knock came on the door. We snatched our hands away from each other's, he blushed and I felt my cheeks heat up. I then frowned, we weren't doing anything wrong so... why did we feel guilty about holding hands? Friends _did_ hold hands, didn't they?

I brushed off my doubts as Newt went to open the doors, walking as though he hadn't had a drop of alcohol. "Hey, is Eli here? Heard she needed a lock placed."

Newt wordlessly widened the opening of the door and went back to his seat. I cranes my neck and recognized Alex, whom I greeted, "Hey Alex. Who sent you?"

"Gally," he answered automatically as he set his toolbox on the wooden floor. He then noticed the drinks and smirked, "Celebrating?"

I raised the bottle which was closest to me, "Mourning... anyway, I'm gonna need two locks, one on each door, can you do that?" I asked, barely moving my lips.

He nodded before squinting at me, "Are you drunk?"

I gave him a thumbs up, "Yep, and about to sleep. Good night."

With that, I pushed the whiskey away and folded my left arm over the table. I was asleep within seconds.

 _I ran the smaller Maze with Alby again. Everything happened the same but this time, I was determined to see the boy's face. As high as I looked, he kept being taller. I tried standing up but my legs wouldn't respond. I scrambled to move but none of my muscles budged. I was growing frustrated and started groaning—  
_  
"Eli, Eli wake up," Newt hissed urgently, "you're having a nightmare, wake up."

My eyelids fluttered open, "It's not a nightmare, it's frustrating!" I groaned as I sat up again. "How long was I out?" I asked groggily as I rubbed my eye with the heel of my left hand.

Newt frowned, "Barely an hour," he replied before giving a look above his shoulder at Alex working on the second lock, "did you try seeing who it was?"

I nodded, "Yeah and every possible thing to keep me from looking happened."

He chuckled. Only then was I aware of how close we were, and I could feel his warm breath on my face. Our eyes locked for a little too long without blinking, mine travelled to his thin lips and my still-drunken self briefly wondered how they'd feel against my own. Suddenly, I remembered Minho and backed away slightly. Newt was close enough to me that he noticed my move and reacted accordingly, regaining his seat.

I scoffed at my vulnerability when drunk and proceeded in making it worse by drinking some more. Newt imitated me and we looked everywhere but at each other. I suddenly felt fenced in. Like I was restrained by some kind of bond with Minho, and I couldn't act like I wanted with other shanks. If I hadn't spent a night with Minho and all that klunk hadn't happened, something would've probably happened with Newt now.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by Alex clicking my bedroom door shut, "Everything's rolling just fine, you got yourself two new locks, Eli."

I gave him a lazy smirk, my eyes hooded, and murmured, "Thanks Alex, you rule."

He chuckled and left immediately after saying, "Thank me when you're sober, girl. I'll be at the bonfire tonight."

I squinted, "The bonfire?"

Newt snapped his fingers, "Right, you don't know! Every three months we hold a bonfire where we all just sit back, relax, and have general fun to forget about the life we lead."

I smiled hazily and lifted my bottle, "I'm ready to celebrate, mate!"

A chuckle took over his face, making him look more attractive than I would've preferred, and he murmured huskily, "You really are a drunken mess."

I could've thought better of it, but decided against being reasonable as I smirked and winked at him, "Only with you, my love."

He laughed then, making his whole face light up, "I'm flattered, Eli."

I took an umpteenth swig of the nearly-empty bottle of whiskey and paused. Then, in a small voice, I confessed, "There's something I wanna do, Newt. And I know I shouldn't, and it'd be bad— I mean, it'd feel _right_ but it wouldn't be right to actually do it, you get me?" I tried explaining, only to end up confusing myself to the point of no return.

His frown deepened gradually as I spoke, to end up with him asking, "What the bloody hell are you on about?"

My eyes shifted, and my cheeks were burning up by now, "You know, I got drunk and then you got cute and tempting and just— will you kiss me alread—?"

The words were barely out of my lips when I felt his large hand pull me towards him. Our lips crashed in a sloppy, trying-to-be-tender kiss. His lips were so very different from Minho's, they were thinner for one thing but it didn't wreck the appeal when he moved them so expertly. At that moment, the thought that went through my mind was random and inappropriate at once: _I'm pretty sure it's not his first kiss._

Five seconds in, we broke the kiss as though pushed away from each other. I was torn between having loved the kiss and having betrayed Minho's trust, even though there was no label on our relationship yet. I could see the same struggle in Newt's eyes as I bit my lip. It was still wet from his tequila-and-Scotch tainted saliva, and I felt even more guilty when I wished for the taste never to leave my lips.

We broke the silence together, him breathing, "Bloody hell." And me murmuring, "Shuck..."

His eyes lifted towards me in what could almost be described as a glare, "What the bloody shuck was that about?"

My eyes widened and my brow lowered in complete shock and awe, "I... I don't know why I said it— I mean it was true, and I wanted it, but now that it happened..."

"We're not telling Minho," that was neither question nor request. He had decided it and I could do nothing but agree.

I frowned, "But we'd have to live with the lie or secret or whatever the shuck... I c— I can't do that, Newt!"

Newt stuck out his bottom lip and shrugged in a carefree way, "There's also the solution of not making anyone any promises, which is still within your options."

I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath, "Newt, what you're asking is... it's complicated, I already like Minho and I told him so..."

He held my gaze too long for comfort and asked, his voice unnervingly steady, "Then why did you ask me to kiss you?"

Normally, I would've avoided the topic with every ounce of willpower that I had. But alcohol, it seemed, had a nasty effect on the filter for my mouth. And so I replied, "Because I wanted you to."

He glared at me, and what little sanity I had left made me feel guilty and ashamed of myself. I unscrewed the cap of my bottle before having it roughly taken away from me. I was about to protest when I saw the hard and authoritative look on Newt's face. Where was the cuteness that made me want to kiss him in the first place?

I frowned at him and he glared back, "No more of this for you, you can get as wasted as you want with Minho since you fancy him so bloody much. I'm not putting up with your drunken self anymore, you've to find yourself another drinking shank."

I felt a pang in my chest at the hidden meaning. It was like he was pushing me away, and I liked his friendship.

 _You had to go and ruin it with your impulsive make out,_ a nagging voice in the back of my mind jeered. I winced physically at the thought as I raked my blurry mind to find a solution.

"We have to tell him, I know I will," I murmured, making him stand up and pace.

"You're looking for trouble here, Eli," he spoke in frustration.

"I won't tell him who it is, if that makes you feel any better," I bargained before realizing how much it'd hurt Minho not to know.

He scoffed, "Yeah, right, and have him make assumptions and ask _me_ who I think it is. Bloody brilliant."

I threw my hand in the air, "Then what do you suggest, apart from keeping it from him?"

He frowned sarcastically at a spot on the wall, "Oh, I don't know, keeping it from him? There's no solution, it's either we tell him and risk ruining order around the Glade or we keep it from him and endure it together, away from one another."

"Together, away from one another," I frowned, "you're not making sense."

"We need to give it a sober thought," he sighed, letting himself fall on his chair.

"No way I'm seeing Minho in this state," I objected firmly— well, as firmly as I might've looked with a bottle of whiskey in my system.

"Quit complaining!" Newt bellowed, running a mad hand through his hair. "You're not making anything easier, you're just— ahh, just slim it until you sober up."

I threw my hand in the air again, "What's one quick way to sober up, then?"

He clenched his eyes shut and massaged the bridge of his nose, "Coffee. I'll get you coffee."

He made to stand up when a knock on the door rang, "Who is it?" I asked, my voice louder than I intended.

"It's Gally, there's something you haven't got yet," he announced.

"Come in," I frowned, meaning to stand up but deciding against it.

Newt stood as the door opened, "Stay with her a while, I'll get coffee."

"Why coffee?" Gally asked, his face scrunched up.

"So she can sober up, she's drunk as a pig."

"Bring bacon and a banana," the Builder instructed.

"Whatever that bloody means," Newt muttered as he left.

Gally took place in Newt's seat and slid the Scotch towards him, "First drink?"

"It's more like first drunk," I snorted before muttering, "that shank must be Irish or something."

"What makes you say that?"

"The way he holds his drink, you wouldn't think he had half a bottle of tequila in nearly one go..."

Gally scoffed, "Doesn't mean anything. Don't you know about my brew?"

"Oh yeah, it's the first I tasted actually. Quite nice, but I think I've had enough alcohol for a while," I raised a hand in decline.

He chuckled, "You're whacked."

"And you don't know half of it," I muttered.

We kept talking like so for a while until Newt came back with coffee and Gally's strange request. Turned out, bacon and bananas were ideal against a bad hangover. I thanked him and he gave me the keys for my new locks, saying Alby and Newt had them too. I locked myself in my bedroom and went to nap, my mind still fuzzy.

 _That dream again, although this time I was able to see into the boy's face. He had light brown eyes, dark brown hair, and looked my age. I squinted. I didn't recognize him from the Glade._

"What's your name?" I asked, making him frown and the children surrounding us laugh.

He blinked twice, "I'm Thomas—"

I was woken from my dream by three loud knocks on the main door of the cabin. I got up groggily and got the keys from the same pocket as the painkillers.

I opened the main door to reveal Minho, arms folded and smirking, "Someone partied a little early."


	13. 13 Bonfire

**13\. Bonfire** **  
**  
 _I opened the main door to reveal Minho, arms folded and smirking, "Someone partied a little early."_

"If that's what you call it," I groaned, widening the opening to let him in.

"How'd you call it?" He asked, chuckling.

I closed the door behind him, "Getting an undeserved hangover. Gally was wrong, bacon and bananas don't do klunk against it."

Minho's brow furrowed as he sat at the now-empty table, "Gally? I thought you were here with Newt."

His mention of the second-in-command reminded me of the happenstance which I now knew I didn't want him to know about. I pressed my lips together, "Yeah, Newt was here. Gally came in to bring the keys for the locks Alex placed this morning."

A look of understanding crossed Minho's face as he nodded slowly, "Right... well, I've come here to pick you up for the bonfire." he extended his right hand over the table, "If you will, Elizabeth."

An involuntary smile took over my face as I took his hand, "You're ridiculous."

He stood up and lead me to the door, "But you're smiling."

As I locked the door, I caught a glimpse of the Deadheads behind my cabin and remembered the traps I had set before Billy assaulted me. I hadn't checked on them since then and I knew I needed to before it got too dark.

I turned to Minho, "Hey, mind coming with me to the Deadheads? I need to check if I caught one before it gets too dark."

"If you caught what?" He frowned.

"A Beetle Blade. I think that's what might've caused Stephen's Changing," I explained, already walking towards the clearing.

"What?" He breathed, abashed, as he followed me, "So that's what you've been up to?"

"Yes, since the Grievers aren't the only cause of a Changing, I think it'd be clever to figure out what changed him," I clarified, skipping over an unearthed tree root, "careful here, don't trip."

He scoffed, "He didn't undergo any type of Changing, it was hunger playing at his head. We were all a little wild at the time," Minho said frustratedly.

"You only say that because you're not giving it a scientific view," I countered as we arrived at the clearing.

In one of the traps I had set, a red light was flickering. I grinned victoriously as I reached in my closest pocket, where a pair of gloves still lay. I covered the struggling Beetle Blade with the glove and picked it up through the thing.

I was still smiling as I looked at Minho who bore an unimpressed expression, "Bingo."

He raised his eyebrows and gestured towards the Glade, "Fabulous, put your new friend in a jar and let's go to the bonfire before all the good food disappears."

I groaned at his lack of recognition, "Ugh, men..."

We went to the kitchen to get an empty jar in which I placed the still-struggling robot. I barely had time to close the jar before it freed itself from the rope that had trapped it and tried escaping. I smirked as I made my way to the Medwing.

"You can go ahead, I'll join you in a few," I offered but Minho trailed after me, hands in his pockets.

"Just be quick, all right?" He murmured, looking around.

I scoffed, "If Jackson knows one thing about me, it's that I'm anything but quick. I'll try though, I just need to lock this little guy up."

"I'm pretty sure it can hear you, or the Creators," he muttered as I opened the door to the Medwing and he hit the light switch.

I frowned and blinked, "Can they?" I lifted the Beetle Blade to eye level, "Well screw you, then. Bastards."

He snorted, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorway, "I don't think that's gonna make them give us a way out."

I shrugged, locking the jar in the closet with medicine and other tools, "It communicates basically how I feel about them... say, has there ever been a Thomas in the Glade? Maybe among the first ten or something."

His brow furrowed in thought, "No, I don't think so. Why?"

I shook my head dismissively, "No reason, just wondering."

He chuckled, "You must still be a little drunk."

I gave a tight smile as we left the Medwing, "Yeah, must be that..."

* * *

The party was like that feeling when one's finally in bed after a long day at work. The aura around the bonfire was festive, obviously, and had the same vibe as a family meeting without the hostilities. I had long since stopped wondering where I got my general knowledge from, but the thought of a family carved a hollowed hole in my chest. Maybe that Thomas was a member of my family...

I was taken out of my reverie by Winston sitting on the log against which my back rested, as I was sat on the grass facing the fire, "Hey stranger."

I smiled up at him, "Hey... how's it going?"

He shrugged. He had a jar in hand and he took a sip before answering, "The usual, a little bugged."

I pursed my lips and frowned up at him, "Something wrong?"

He surveyed me thoughtfully before sighing, "It's him... he's keeping his distance these days, I don't know why."

I chewed on my bottom lip as I looked back at the fire and sipped on the coffee I asked Frypan for, "When's the last time he's been acting normal?"

"Uhh a week ago, give or take," he approximated before having a drink, "why?"

"Did something happen a week ago?" I asked again.

"Well no..." he trailed off, and I waited for him to elaborate, "unless you count that moment where we stared at each other a little too long."

I tsk'ed before giving a dark chuckle, "And I thought I was the only one with an issue."

"What's that supposed to mean? Did something happen?" Winston tried diverting the topic towards me and I smirked up at him.

"Pretty sure he felt things foreign to him when you stared at each other, Win', you need to be careful around him." I advised, as though I knew what I was talking about.

A smile blossomed across his fire-lit face as he asked, "What'd you just call me?"

"I called you Win', why's that such a surprise?" I frowned, glancing up at him.

He smirked down at me, "The first time I get a nickname, if you can believe it."

My left eyebrow twitched, "I'm honored." I raised my mug and he clinked it with his jar.

"You know, I'm glad you came up the Box," he confessed, leaning over with his elbows on his knees.

I felt color rising to my cheeks as I brushed him off with a chuckle and a nudge at his knee, which was level with my injured shoulder, "And this is where alcohol starts speaking for you."

He snorted, "You're klunk at taking compliments."

"I _don't_ take compliments, it's as simple as that," I countered, tilting my head for emphasis.

 _The last time you got a compliment, things turned sour_ , a voice rang in the back of my mind.

"Well you should," he muttered as he stared at me with glassy eyes.

I shifted awkwardly, "Winston if this is how you looked at him I understand why he's not around anymore. You're giving me the creeps."

His face broke into a chuckle, "Sorry it must be Gally's recipe."

I chewed on my lips as I looked back at the fire, "Must be..."

A few moments passed before he murmured, "Did something happen, Eli?"

I drew in a breath to start speaking when a heavy form landed on my left, on the grass. I turned to find Alex, obviously drunk, "Good evening, you." I greeted him, drawing closer to Winston.

He shifted closer to me, drawing a quiet groan from me, "Evening, Eli. You're welcome for the locks, it was my pleasure."

I raised my eyebrows, "Yeah, right. Thank you."

"Do you mind, Alex? We were talking," Winston growled gruffly.

"Why're you the only one to talk to the chick?" Alex barely articulated his syllables as he spoke in an accusatory tone, "So what, the first girl's _just_ for the shuck-faced Keepers? T's it?"

I handed my mug to Winston who placed it on his other side, "Help me up, I don't have to listen to this."

He stood in front of me and extended his left arm, "Let's take this somewhere else."

"Take what? I wanna come too," Alex's drunken mess spoke as he scrambled and failed to get up.

I scoffed as we walked away from the Builder, "Are they all gonna turn this way?"

He sighed, "You never know, it's the first bonfire with a girl. Best stay with me tonight."

"And keep you away from a certain someone," I smirked slyly, taking back my mug from the ground.

He shot me a condescending glance, "Sure, and try and keep Minho away from you."

I poked my tongue against the inside of my lip and raised my eyebrows briefly, "You can try."

He chuckled and threw his arm over my shoulders, "You still haven't told me what happened."

I eyed his arm meaningfully, "Don't do that."

He let it fall at his side, "You didn't use to be against that."

"I didn't use to wear a sling either, things change," I spoke coldly.

He frowned, "What happened?"

I bit my lips and sighed deeply, I looked around to make sure no one would overhear me and murmured, "I kissed Newt."

Right then, Winston burst out laughing, doubling over. He had tears in his eyes as he tried squeezing his words in-between mists of laughter, "Are you trying to establish some sort of record?"

I pushed him with as much force as I could to transmit my feeling, "I was drunk, okay? I don't know why I asked him to." I hissed.

He raised his eyebrows at me, "Well he obliged, didn't he?"

I rolled my eyes at him, "Yes, he did. And now I feel like a shuck-face towards both him and Minho."

He eyed me with a serious expression on his face, "You have a lot to learn, shank."

"No way?" I interjected sarcastically.

He pursed his lips as he thought for a few seconds, "Keep your distance from both of them, clear your head. You need to give it a serious thought."

"Like I haven't been doing just that," I scoffed, leaning my back against a tree.

"Give it time, you've to forget about them for a few," he advised, making me nod slowly as I processed his words.

He fell silent with those last words hanging in the air like garlands after the party was over. We spent the rest of the festivities looking at the other boys sparring in a ring of sand. Newt looked a little off of the situation. I didn't want to make it about me, but my guess was that he was thinking about how we nearly got into an argument. I said nearly because I didn't consider anything I said while drunk to be accounted for. I locked eyes with him as I saw him shove his hands in his pockets. What caught my attention was how his frown deepened as though he had found something inside. My doubts were confirmed when I saw him pull out a folded piece of paper. A look of understanding crossed his face as he deliberately limped towards me and Winston.

"Look who's coming," he muttered rather slyly, "I think I'm just gonna—"

I turned sharply towards him and hissed, "You leave me alone with him I tell Jeff how you feel about him." Of course, I was lying, but he didn't need to know that.

He brushed me off with a chuckle, "You'd help me with that, though I know you won't. I'm in the kitchen if you need me..."

I glared at his retreating form and called after him, "Shuck you!"

I heard a faint chuckle as my heartbeat quickened with every step of Newt's towards me. He sat on the log, where Winston had been a minute before he betrayed me. Newt wordlessly extended the paper to me and I took it hesitantly. Upon reading the first few lines, I realized it was the letter I had written to Minho before the Gathering that sent me to the Maze.

I blinked, "You didn't give it to him..." I muttered.

"Forgot about it," he replied immediately. He then scratched the back of his neck and I knew he was lying.

I decided not to point it out, "Well it's good since I'm back."

"And since you're dating him anyway," he added, somewhat spitefully.

I frowned, "I'm not officially dating him... I don't think I will."

"Why not? You like him, don't you? And I'd say he likes you too," he spat, failing to hide some type of relief— or what I interpreted as such.

I pressed my lips together and shook my head, "No, I've given it a thought. It's too much to deal with, I have other matters in mind. And I don't wanna displease anyone."

"You wouldn't displease anyone by being with him," he squeezed through gritted teeth.

I looked up at him for the first time, he was glaring at the grass, "I didn't wanna ask why you were so cold about the matter but now you're straight up lying."

He sent me an outraged glance, at which I chuckled, making a small smile grace his lips, "You're unbelievable."

I folded the paper, the ghost of my smile still haunting my face as I realized how much of a close call it was. Thinking back on it, I hated every word of the letter and thought it childish. I made to stand up but Newt stopped me.

"What'd you need?" He asked, standing in my stead.

"I wanna throw this in the fire," I mumbled, lifting the letter towards him.

He took it between his fingers and smirked, "I'll do it."

 _We're still friends, then?_ I might've asked if I didn't fear it might kill the mood.

He came back and sat, letting a few seconds' silence restore our peace of mind before asking, "Why did Winston leave when I came?"

"He hates me. He knows we kissed and he did that thing where he leaves me to an awkward situation," I explained with a snort, rubbing my lips against the empty mug's lid.

He raised an eyebrow, "You told him that?"

I shrugged, "Yeah, I talk to him about stuff like that."

He frowned, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, "Why him, especially?"

I looked at his hands wringing as I murmured, "He's different."

"Because he's a bender?" Newt asked, making me frown.

I turned to him, flabbergasted, "Sorry, a _what_?"

He swallowed and reiterated, parting his hands for emphasis, "A bender. Guy who likes guys. I think you people call it gay."

I snorted at first, "'You people,' he says as if—" until I realized what he'd just said, "Wait, how'd you know that?"

Newt frowned, "He had a lad at some point, how's it you know? Did he tell you?"

"I guessed, for the most part. But I found him in a weird position that confirmed my suspicions..." I trailed off as my attention was caught by a certain Glader hobbling his way to the far side of the Homestead, near the Box.

I tuned Newt out as I stared at Billy, kneeling before the closed Box as though meaning to pray. Then, something unexpected happened. He started crying, and loudly at that. My jaw fell at the sight and sound. He thundered at the Box, punching it his knuckles raw and probably beaten to dust by now.

At that moment, I realized I didn't relish seeing him in such a state: I pitied the bastard. He looked absolutely pathetic, crying at the Box and asking it to take him back. Noticing that people saw him and did nothing, or didn't seem the slightest bit surprised or concerned, told me this was not a rare occurrence. I pursed my lips and looked away from the crying Bagger.

Newt must've noticed me looking as he murmured, "We all have breakdowns, from time to time. Some yell at the Box, others at a Maze door. No use trying to comfort one another, we're all stuck in the same klunk hole... just leave him be, although it serves him right."

A spiteful smirk pulled at my lips, "It doesn't make me feel any better to see how pathetic he is. I really think I'm the only one who doesn't mind living in here... what if what's waiting for us outside the Maze is worse?"

"Thought about it... then again, after two years give or take, you learn to hate being trapped. I mean, is this all there is?" Newt asked, spreading his hands lazily in a gesture towards the Glade.

I pondered over it before shaking my head, my forefinger tracing the lid of the mug, "I'd rather be fenced in somewhere whose dangers I know than being thrown into an infinity that could very well be hiding hell."

He tilted his head, "That's one way to look at it... you're right not to want to be a runner, it'd screw with your head."

I glanced at him, a frown crowning my eyes, "Huh? In what way?"

He locked eyes with me, his expression serious and somewhat hard, "In a way that you'd end up like me. We're not so different from one another."

I was about to reply when Winston sat on my other side, "All right, that's enough pillow talk, lovebirds."

I exhaled sharply from my nose, "We're getting spiritual. The topic's dropped, I'm not getting together with anyone. Too much useless drama, we all have work to do."

Newt breathed a chuckle, "I see you found someone else to talk about boys to."

"Someone else?" I repeated, confused.

"Yeah, he used to talk my bloody ears off about his ex," Newt claimed, "he was a really annoying Greenie."

"Slim it, Newt," Winston beamed, which confused me even more.

I eyed him suspiciously, "Did anything happen in the kitchen?"

Color satisfyingly rose to his cheeks as he looked towards the fire, "Don't know what you're talking about..." he mumbled, but I had him busted.

A huge, unwillingly sly grin split my face as I elbowed him in the ribs, "Something to do with a Med-Jack, perhaps...?" I taunted, making a chuckle slide out of his parted lips.

"Jeff?" Newt asked, "That's who you set your sight on?"

"Ahh, just slim it. You two are worse than girls," Winston tried brushing us off.

I mock-gasped with a hand to my chest, "I take offense in that, Mr. Slicer."

Newt laughed loudly at that, "'Mr. Slicer'? Really?"

I shrugged, "Yeah, since none of us have last names, I use the job as such."

"And what last name would the second-in-command have?" Newt asked.

"Well, since Alby is Alby Alpha, you're Newt Beta," I answered automatically. "Then you have Minho Runner, Winston Slicer, Gally Builder, and so on..."

"That's a weird way to look at things," Winston commented, probably thinking I had dropped the subject.

"I need a certain kind of order," I justified myself.

"If that's how you call being bloody weird, we'll have it," Newt snickered.

I gave him a sideways glance, "I don't know if getting you two together was a good idea, all of a sudden."

"It's never a good idea, you just have to deal with the consequences," Winston stated, looking around the Glade.

I raised an eyebrow at him, "I want the full story with details, Win'."

He groaned, letting his head fall back against the log, "I thought I'd distracted you from it."

I snorted, "You can't distract me from anything."

A surprised expression then took over his face, "Oh look, Minho's coming!"

I whipped around before realizing what he had done. I glared at him and pushed him to the side, nearly sending him on the ground, "Screw you."

He laughed out loud, repositioning himself next to me, "Sorry, it was too easy."

Newt chuckled lightly as he surveyed the Gladers and I did the same. Everyone seemed to be having some type of fun, minus Billy who was now weeping at the foot of a tree. I pursed my lips and shook my head as I looked away from him to the only other guy who didn't seem to be enjoying himself: Alby. He sat on a wooden, four-legged stool near the fire. He held a jar with a liquid darker than Gally's mix and was sipping on it rather sadly, or what seemed like it.

I angled myself towards Newt, keeping my gaze on the leader as I asked, "Hey, what's with Alby?"

"Hm?"

"Why does he look so depressed?" I reiterated.

Winston answered, "Try to be the leader of a group of shanks, promising to take them to a home you have no shucking idea how to get to, and dealing with all those shuck-faces every single day for nearly two years. That's why he looks so depressed."

Newt stood up, an anxious frown on his face, "I'll talk to him."

I frowned as well as I saw Newt limp towards Alby and sit, cross-legged on the grass by his side. "I thought the best thing to do was to leave the sad-person be when they showed symptoms of depression or the like... that's what Newt said anyway."

"Yeah... except with Alby," Winston murmured, "our rules generally don't really apply on the trinity."

My frown deepened, "The trinity?"

He grimaced, "Alby, Newt, and Minho. If they wanted to stop working, they would. And no one would question it. If Minho wants to kill someone, he does. And he won't be banished. If Alby wants to go into the Maze, even though he doesn't really qualify as a Runner, he goes there. The thing is, we say we're all equal but we all know they're one step ahead. Going from ten to four —including Alan— in a month is really something..."

I blinked at him, keeping myself from telling him it was actually ten months, "So it's a dictatorship? The Glade is ruled by a trinity of dictators?"

He pressed his lips together, "Yeah, we don't really like that word. It's just that, everything has an explanation. For Alby going into the Maze, it's because he would've been a Runner if he weren't stuck in leading the Glade and he can't risk—" he cut himself off, grimacing as though he'd said too much before picking up, "For Minho, it's because he's an incredible asset in the Maze. If it hadn't been for him, half the runners wouldn't be at that role. We wouldn't have a chance of finding a way out of the shuck Maze. And for not getting work done, I have no explanation really. Some would say their work as leaders exhausts them, but hey..."

I let his words hang in the air. I was still focusing on the sentence he cut off about Alby. I let him think I had forgotten about it for some time, before dealing the blow.

"What's the risk for Alby if he becomes a runner?" I asked, turning to see him taken aback.

"Like every runner, the risk is to be stuck in the Maze—"

I pressed my lips together and gave him a condescending glance, "You know exactly what I mean. What's keeping him in the Glade?"

"Nothing," his voice was incredibly high and I snorted.

"You're a really bad liar," I smirked, slouching against the log with my head on his shoulder.

He rested his head on mine, "It's not mine to tell. Not even Clint knows about it and he came up the Box right after I did."

I raised an eyebrow, "What the hell does that mean?"

"Can't tell you, only Alby can decide whether you're to be informed or not," Winston spoke decisively.

"Big happy family," I sighed, toying with the empty mug that had long since stopped serving its initial purpose.

I had given up hope of knowing what the deal with Alby was when Newt limped towards me, looking nervous. When he reached us, he leaned down and exchanged a meaningful glance with Winston before giving me his hand, "I have something to show you, Eli. But you have to swear to keep it a secret."

My lips parted before I took his hand and sprang up, "I swear."

He sent me a tight smile as he led me towards the Homestead, although instead of going upstairs he led me to a path I hadn't seen before and which went downward. He turned on a light to reveal a flight of stairs at the bottom of which was a heavy metal door, much like the Map Room's.

When we arrived at the foot of the stairs, he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door to reveal a rather large bedroom. It was dominated by a bed in the bottom left corner, a round table and four chairs, and an area filled with drawings, wooden animals and cubes, and small toys. This was the room of a child, and it apparently had an en-suite at a door to my right, which I only now noticed. The air in the room was sickly and eerie, and I wanted nothing more than to leave this place.

Newt caught my gaze and nodded towards the bed, which I now saw held a sleeping form, "Eli, meet Nick." He murmured, so as not to wake the child.


	14. 14 Nick

**A/N: So, I have a problem guys. (Pleasure, et cetera...) I tried to keep on writing but I'm sort of _really_ stuck in chapter 15 now BUT the epilogue to this installment is written. I have two issues that need solving and I wanted to ask if it was all right with you guys if I did that in flashbacks because I'm overtaken with a strong kind of anxiety as soon as I look at or think about continuing to write chapter 15. So... would that be all right? Again, thank you all so much for the favourites, follows, and reviews (and even the 4k+ views) they make my days better. X**

* * *

 **14\. Nick** **  
**  
 _Newt caught my gaze and nodded towards the bed, which I now saw held a sleeping form, "Eli, meet Nick." He murmured, so as not to wake the child._

I turned to the second-in-command, "Sorry, who?"

He rolled his eyes as he gave me a slight shove inside and locked the door behind us, "Nick is the youngest Glader, the issue is that he's too young to follow the rules, so we keep him here because we can't guarantee he won't go running through the Doors."

"And why does no one talk about Nick?" I hissed, placing my left hand on my hip instead of folding my arms over my chest.

"Because most of them don't know about him," Newt explained as he pulled a chair for me.

I hesitantly sat, keeping my eyes on the bed, "Why are you telling me, then?"

He inhaled sharply, about to answer, but he stopped himself at the last second, "You need to know all about Nick before I tell you why I showed him to you."

I sighed and shrugged, "Go ahead, then. Tell me his story."

"He er..." Newt scratched his brow nervously, "It's complicated."

I blinked, unimpressed, "Did he come up the Box, at least? Or did you find him just hanging around when the first batch was sent?"

Newt glared at me, "You're joking about—"

I bulged my eyes at him, shocked, "I'm not joking, just trying to loosen you up. You look like you're going to tell a ghost story."

He gave a frustrated sigh, "He came up the Box three months after Doug, at the same time as Winston. They were Greenies at the same time, if you can believe it."

I shrugged, "I'm the first girl in here, so it's not so hard to believe."

A dark smirk pulled at his lips briefly as he looked back at Nick, "He was about three or four years old when he came up the Box. We found him crying with Winston trying to reassure him, even though he must've been just as scared. It's Alby who named him, and who decided he'd be better hidden."

I frowned, "Why keep his existence from the others, though?"

He sighed as he rubbed his eyelids, which turned into pinching the bridge of his nose, as he muttered, "Why tell them? It'd be better kept a secret, otherwise this would have to be included in the Tour."

I scrunched up my chin and nodded curtly, "Okay, go on..."

"Minho often comes down here to play with him, mostly at night after dinner," Newt informed me, "and Alby comes in here every single day, plays with him and teaches him how to read and write. It used to be Alan, but you know what happened to him. At first, Alby was reluctant. Said he had better to do than raise a kid... he soon realized he was the only one fit for the job.

"Nick didn't talk until a few weeks after he came up the Box, and his first word was Abby," Newt chuckled, and an involuntary smile took over my face, "he should be able to talk, at this point, but it's only baby-talk for some reason. Winston visits him often as well, but that... yeah, that's complicated as well. Thankfully, Frypan never questions Alby's requests of extra food, and we knew enough medicine to take care of him, so far..." his voice trailed off as he gave a sad look towards the bed, he turned to me with a serious expression on his face, "Except, recently, he's been sick for too long. And we don't know what to do anymore. Usually, when he falls sick, it's not more than three days. He's been aching for a week and a half, and we're getting desperate. We have no idea what could be happening to him."

I frowned, "Is that why you're telling me? And who's 'we'?"

"Alby, Minho, Winston, Doug, Gally, and me," Newt listed, "and yes, that's why I'm telling you. It would've been Alan, since he treated Nick when he got chickenpox..."

I gave a long, quiet sigh as I rubbed my forehead. I didn't know how far my knowledge in medicine went, I might not be of any help, but as Newt said: they were desperate. I gulped down my insecurities as I gathered my willpower to go and examine the kid. I instinctively reached in my pocket for the gloves, only to find it empty and realize I had dropped them when I was locking up the Beetle Blade.

I pressed my lips together and looked up, "Mind if I examine him?"

He stood up, "Want me to wake him?"

I pondered over the idea before nodding, "Yeah, please."

Newt went to the bed and leaned over the child, running his hand over Nick's arm, "Nick, Nicky it's time to wake up now." Nick stirred briefly before groaning and turning away from Newt, "Come on, I have a new friend for you. She's going to take care of you."

I walked to the foot of the bed and felt suddenly nervous about meeting the youngest Glader. What if he didn't like me? I never remembered being fond of children, but this one felt special. Nick sat up, rubbing his eyes, and I could distinguish an olive skin tone. He was neither chubby, nor too thin which was reassuring given he was sick. His brown hair was spiked up in a hairstyle that resembled Minho's a little too much. What caught my attention, before he opened his eyes, was that his skin was flushed as though he were feverish. I pressed my lips together, before my jaw fell when he opened his eyes. His right eye was dark brown, the same color as Newt's eyes, and his left eye was a light hazel color, nearly green. I knew this phenomenon existed, but to actually see it was absolutely beautiful. I didn't realize I had been smiling until I felt myself again.

"Noot," Nick murmured in a not-so-baby-voice, which I took to be the way he called the second-in-command, before he looked at me and gave me a tired yet toothy grin, "hi!"

A breathy chuckle slid through my lips as I waved curtly at him, "Hi, Nick. I'm Eli."

"Lily," he repeated, waking slowly but surely.

I smiled at him, "Yeah, you can call me Lily if you want. So, _Noot_ tells me you're sick." Nick nodded, sniffing before clumsily rubbing his nose, "Well, I'm a Med-jack. You know what a Med-jack is?"

He nodded again as I went to his bedside, where Newt had been previously standing, "Meddacks make sickie go 'way."

I chuckled slightly, "Yes, that's exactly that. Now, I'm here to make Nicky's sickie go away, all right? Tell me where it hurts you," I asked and he pointed at his little belly, "okay, now lie down and lift up your shirt."

He did so and I prodded various spots. He only whimpered and grimaced when I got to his lower half, just above his right hip. I pulled his shirt back down and told him he could go back to sleep, which he surprisingly did quicker than I thought he would. As I turned away from him, my smile vanished and I gave a serious look at Newt.

"I know you're supposed to be in command and everything, but I need you to bring all those who know about Nick being sick to the Council, preferably those who are sober," I ordered as we walked up the stairs to the Homestead.

* * *

I took a random chair as the Council filled with Alby, Winston, Minho, Doug, Gally, and Newt who closed the door behind him. I gave him a meaningful glance as he introduced them to the topic.

"Since Nick's been sick for too long, Alby and I thought we ought to have Eli examine him," Newt announced.

"Why not Clint?" Doug asked, "I mean, he's the Keeper, isn't he?"

"She's the better Med-jack," Newt countered.

"When's she gonna see him?" Gally asked, arms folded over his chest as though he took the matter personally.

"I already have, and I know what's wrong with him," I spoke in a hollow tone. I was terrified of announcing, "it's his appendix. I don't think it's ruptured yet, but he needs to be operated before it does. It's a simple intervention but neglecting it can be deadly."

"Why'd you look so scared?" Winston asked, frowning.

I closed my eyes briefly and sighed, "It's surgery. I can mend bones and cuts, but surgery is on another level. I'm gonna need help and cover, especially since I have a useless arm."

"Newt will help," Alby announced, although it sounded more like an order.

The former pressed his lips together and nodded, resigned. I gave him a tight smile, "Gonna need a diversion, too."

"Why?" Minho asked, frowning.

"I can't operate him in his room. I'm gonna need a table high enough for Newt and a sterile environment which only the Medwing can provide," I explained.

"Yeah, we can do that," the Runner replied.

"You seem to be forgetting that there are two other Med-jacks," I pointed out.

"I'll keep them away from there," Alby assured me.

I nodded and sighed, "You have to know that there's a big risk of him not coming out alive."

Alby pressed his lips together and nodded, "Just do your best to save him."

I sighed and nodded, "I will, I will... I just need time to think, I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Alby pressed his lips together, "Go to sleep, I need you fully operational."

I stood up and went to the door muttering, "Gonna need myself that way too..."

* * *

The next morning, literally every Glader was exhausted and/or nursing a hangover. That was, if one didn't count the few who knew about Nick: Alby was dad-worried, Newt was anxious and stressed, and Minho, Gally, Winston, and Doug were also worried. I addressed Winston a tight smile as I tugged at my breakfast with my fork.

Frypan sat in front of me, "What's with the long faces?"

I squeezed a chuckle through my lips, "We're all tired, I thought you'd have worked that much out by yourself."

He tsk'ed and shook his head, "Nah, the others are tired. You, and a few others, are sad like someone died."

I raised an eyebrow at him, a smile taking over my lips, "You're too perceptive for your own good, do you know that?"

He chuckled, "I get told that..." the cook let a short silence stretch before asking in a scary seriousness, "Seriously, what's wrong?"

I looked over at Alby who minutely shook his head, "Nothing important... we'd tell you if you needed to know." I assured him.

He didn't seem convinced as he ate, "'F you say so..."

We ate silently until Clint joined us, looking disheveled with dark circles under his eyes. I suddenly had an idea to keep him away from the Medwing for the day. I locked eyes with Alby for a few seconds, and made him understand to agree with what I was going to say. He frowned ever so slightly, meaning to say he would still seriously consider my offer.

I drew in a slight breath, "Wow, Clint... someone partied hard yesterday," I remarked slyly.

He chuckled, his voice hoarse from the whooping and cheering his drunken self had performed last night, "You don't say? I wonder how you're not worse."

I shrugged, "I didn't drink at the party, only before. I had time to be hungover yesterday."

He laughed, "Lucky shank... say, do you still carry the painkillers? I think I sprained something while wrestling yesterday."

I snickered while reaching for the box in my pocket, "This amount of testosterone will lead you nowhere good, shank."

He rolled his eyes at me as I tossed him a pill, "Gotta keep in shape."

I scrunched up my face, surveying him, "What shape?"

Clint then pulled an offended face which made me laugh for the first time in a too long time. I felt nearly every Glader's eyes on me, which quieted me down a bit. I looked over at Newt who had a smirk playing at his lips, and Frypan was straight up grinning widely. I bit my lips and tried eating breakfast for a while until I remembered my plan to keep Clint away from the Medwing.

His pitiful state was an asset I used, "You should have today off, Clint. Your face is scary."

He raised an eyebrow, "You think you're any better?"

I snorted, "I think I'm adorable. Anyway, you're off for today. So is Jeff, I'll handle the Medwing with Newt."

Newt caught my drift and acted along, "Mind asking if I want to, first?"

I scoffed, "You already gave your agreement."

He frowned, "When?"

"When I said so." I stated before turning to Clint, "So it's settled, go back to sleep and tell Jeff he's off as well."

Clint chuckled sarcastically, "I think you're forgetting one thing," he tilted his head towards Alby who had an impassive frown on his face.

We all looked expectantly at Alby who let silence stretch before sighing, "Only because you look like hammered klunk."

I gave him a wide grin, "Jeff too, right?"

He rolled his eyes and stood up before I could add any more names, "Yes, him too. Now the rest of y'all go to work."

* * *

An hour later had Newt, Alby, Nick, and me in the Medwing, which was guarded outside by Gally and Winston. Alby volunteered to help Newt as I gave out instructions, and I was glad due to my inability to use my good arm. Nick was already sleeping from the chloroform-scented rag; my job was to make him sleep more when he stirred.

We looked at one another anxiously before I drew in a shaky breath, "Let's do this."


	15. 15

**A/N: I apologize in advance for the scarcity of this chapter and the lack of title. Also note that the first chapter after the epilogue will come with some delay, as I'm trying to get a few done beforehand. Thank you guys for your support and understanding, and most of all for liking my work. X**

* * *

 **15.** **  
**  
Two hours later, Newt was slumped on the desk chair and Alby was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Nick's, who was sleeping peacefully. I was at the foot of his bed, painstakingly trying to take notes on how the operation had gone. I looked over at the medical supplies we had needed and wondered what I could tell Clint about them.

I turned to Alby and murmured, "How do I explain the missing supplies?"

He looked up briefly before returning to contemplating the wooden floor between his feet, "Blame everything on me. Say I raided the Medwing or whatever."

I nodded. This was good enough for me and would be just as good for Clint. We let some more silence stretch before we heard Gally's unmistakable voice yelling. I frowned at Alby who nodded at Newt. The latter shot up from his seat and went to the door. I recognized the intruder's voice as Clint.

"Dude I just wanna get medicine, what's wrong with you?!"

"The access here is forbidden, wait until tonight, you shuck-face!" Gally bellowed, probably inches from the shorter Glader.

Newt's arrival in the conversation was customarily peace-bringing, "Hey, hey, slim it, you two. He's sleeping it off."

"Who's sleeping what off?" Clint asked.

"Alby, his appendix nearly ruptured but Eli and I operated him. Well, she gave instructions that I followed," Newt explained.

I squinted at Alby who nodded slowly as we heard Gally speak, "He gonna be all right?" And I knew he meant that about Nick.

Newt sighed, "Eli says we can't know for sure until he wakes up and says how he feels."

Doug snorted, "Good luck with that!"

"Anyway, tell me what you need and I'll give it to you," Newt sighed in frustration.

* * *

Days went like that, "Alby"'s nurses alternating between Newt and me, and Minho and Winston. Nick had woken up and was the quietest kid one could imagine. I had applied a band-aid on Alby's abdomen to keep up appearances according to which his appendix had been removed. I noticed, yet didn't show I had, that Alby behaved much like a father to Nick who was prematurely wise.

Gally visiting Nick was absolutely the cutest thing I had ever seen in the Glade. He goofed around with the child and was extremely protective of him. Minho was the same, yet projected his usual swagger on the younger boy and made sure his hair looked "on point". Newt looked like he could've been Nick's babysitting cousin. He wasn't as close to him as the others but he was still adorable with him. Doug would've been his partner-in-crime in another life, making up completely twisted scenarios and —to Alby's displease— teaching him swear words.

Winston was another matter. Even though he behaved much like the others, there was a sad glint in his eyes each time Nick turned away. I frowned deeply when I first noticed it, and glanced at Newt who shook his head at me. I pursed my lips and got back to examining the Beetle Blade, for the sake of something to do.

Nick, who officially took to calling me Lily, did something that surprised everyone including me: he asked me to be his mommy. At first I was taken aback and felt the urge to reply negatively, but there was a kind of seriousness in his magnificent, bicolor eyes that made me nod. Being his mommy mostly consisted in telling him bedtime stories and lying with him until he fell asleep, except I usually ended up sleeping with the little guy.

* * *

 **Three Weeks Later  
**  
My shoulder was healing well, I'd only need one more week in a sling before starting to exercise it in order to regain its initial mobility. Nick had been moved back to the Basement in one of the nights following his operation. His scar had healed nicely, he stopped complaining about pain anywhere, and he was no longer feverish.

I found myself divided between the Medwing and the Basement, taking food in the latter place. I spent more time than I cared to admit with Nick, and thus got attached to him. I loved how quick-witted he was and how his unique eyes lit up when he was learning something new. He was almost too intelligent for his age, yet still not as articulate. Newt was right, this was curious.

I had miraculously stopped thinking about what Billy had done to me, or almost succeeded into doing to me, and I thought everyone else had too. If they hadn't, they made a very good impression of the opposite. My mind would sometimes drift off to thoughts of revenge but I'd shake off the idea and continue on my work.

* * *

It was six weeks and two Greenies later that the perfect opportunity for revenge came stumbling into the Medwing. I —not wearing a sling anymore— looked up from the dissected Beetle Blade and found Alex helping an unconscious and bloody Billy onto the nearest bed. Clint was in bed with flu and Jeff was helping out in the Bloodhouse, which meant I was the only available Med-jack.

I quietly put my research subject back into the closet as I asked with arrogant calmness, "What happened?"

"He was helping us with the top floor when he fell and his head hit a railing on his way down. Doug said he heard something crack when he touched the ground," Alex explained, breathless.

I put on my blouse and wore gloves as I muttered, "How sad... let's see if he's gonna survive."

I pressed two fingers below his jaw and found a strong pulse. I refrained myself from feeling disappointed as I went to the wound in his head. He had a deep gash on his left temple, much like the one I had had on that incident. I exhaled sharply from my nose at the irony as I went to his limbs to check for fractures. His shoulders and arms were fine, save for some bruises, his ribs though...

I pressed my lips together, "He has broken ribs. Can't exactly tell how many or which but his ribcage is a little too loose."

"It can heal, though?" Alex asked doubtfully.

"Gonna take a hell of a lot of time," I answered coldly as I went to his hips.

His leg bones were fine until I got to his right shin. The break had pierced through his skin and was already infected. As I rolled up his pants, I could barely distinguish the cut from the bruises and the caked-on blood. The bit of bone, though, stood high and glaringly white. I winced at the sight and saw Alex shift uncomfortably.

"You can leave if you don't feel okay with this sight. Hell, I would if I weren't the only Med-jack here." I muttered in awe, "What I'd like is some help to put his bones back in place. I'm not strong enough."

Alex flitted past me to the end of the bed and gave me a hard look, "How do I do it?"

"Turn his leg out as sharply as you can. It might wake him up, though, so I suggest we strap him in first."

* * *

That night, Jeff was on patient-watch duty as I had asked him. I decided to have dinner with everyone else, for once, and the change was noticed.

"Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence!" Frypan exclaimed dramatically as he gave me my meal.

"I gotta admit that I missed seeing your shucky faces. What've I missed?" I asked casually.

"Go and sit down, you're slowing the line," he chastised me condescendingly.

I rolled my eyes, "Fine, _dad_."

I found a table at which Jeff, Winston, and Gally were sitting. I joined them, getting a smile from Jeff and knowing glances from the other two. I dug in, eager to be done and be able to join Nick.

And this, my friends, is the last memory I had for a while.


	16. Epilogue

**On the occasion of Thomas Baby-Face-Brodie-Sangster's birthday, here is the epilogue of the first installment of Eli's story. I would again like to thank everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, and favourited this fanfiction. Much love to you all and I look forward to posting the first chapter of Eli in the Scorch, I'll give myself one month to post it.**

* * *

 **Epilogue**  
I gasped as I woke, shooting up from a foreign pillow and snapping my eyes open to an even more foreign room. Either the ceiling was too low or the bed I had been sleeping on was too high and, looking down, I realized it was one of those vertical double-beds— I had forgotten the name. My thoughts were jammed and I felt all sense of safety leave me as I realized I didn't know where I was or how I had gotten there.

My last memory was of eating dinner and wanting to go to the Basement, and I didn't remember falling asleep. Unlike waking up in the Box, I couldn't manage to know anything about what had led me into this strange room. I sat up and looked around: the walls were off-white, there was one window framed with colored curtains— although it was barricaded with a brick wall.

I swung my legs hanging over the bed and readied myself before jumping off and wincing at the pain that it lanced through my leg bones, up to my hips. I realized I must not have used my limbs in more than a while. I frowned at the thought. I looked around the room and saw two doors.

The first I noticed was on the wall at the foot of the bed and on the right of the window. I opened it to reveal a small bathroom, not containing much. I examined my body briefly and saw I was clean, wearing new clothes, and even a digital watch. I nevertheless went to wash my face.

I noticed the second door as I got out of the bathroom. What more I noticed was the folded paper stuck to the door with the first words scribbled on top: «Read this before doing anything else.»

I took the paper and unfolded it. Sitting on the lower bed, I started reading:

«Good morning, Elizabeth.  
You must be very confused, and WICKED Company apologizes for the inconvenience. The most important thing in this note is that the others must not know about your stay in the Glade— not until you meet your friends again. You will understand once you leave this room. If you tell anyone about your past, we will make sure one of your Glader friends dies. Each person you tell kills one Glader. Good luck for phase two.

— Chancellor Ava Paige.»

I only noticed my jaw was slack when I tried swallowing saliva. Who was I going to meet? Why couldn't I tell them about my past? And most importantly: Who was this Chancellor? I didn't know how much time had gone by while I stared at the note, but I figured I ought to get out of this room.

Somehow I was more nervous to meet those new people that I couldn't tell about my past than when I realized I was the only girl in the Glade. I looked at my watch and saw it was 5am. I squinted at the time and my eyes flew to the doorknob. I hesitated for the longest time before finally deciding to open the door.

Although, as soon as my hand touched the doorknob, a deafening alarm rang outside of the room. It sounded like an amplified version of the Greenie alarm. I tried at the doorknob but it wouldn't budge.

I stepped back, scrunching the paper in my sweaty fist before I realized I should get rid of the note. _Where?_ I whipped around to see the bathroom door. I glanced at the scrunched up paper in my hand, and only now did I notice it was printed and not written. The font seemed familiar, but I didn't pay much heed to it as I made my way to the bathroom. I lifted the lid and threw the paper ball in the water, and then I flushed the toilet and went to the main door.

The alarm was still blaring as I tried at the doorknob again. It didn't move an inch and I yanked it, rather uselessly, as I groaned in frustration. I sighed and sat on the bed, elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I looked at the glaringly empty wall in front of me and had the most sudden thought plague my mind: _What would Minho do in a situation like this?_

Another voice rang in the back of my mind, unscripted: _He'd break down the door and throw punches before asking questions._

I frowned at the thought but didn't have time to think about it as the alarm stopped, leaving place for muffled murmurs. Unknown voices were murmuring at the door and I didn't think of announcing my presence before I knew who I was going to meet, what they were like.

The first thing that surprised me was that they were all female, "Elizabeth Tudor? What the fudge?" Exclaimed a high voice.

"Shut your pie-hole, Vicky, let me see," an older and much more authoritarian voice chided as it got nearer and murmured, "Elizabeth Tudor, WICKED Property, Subject A, The Guinea Pig— Hold up, the Guinea Pig? What's that mean? Sonya, call the chick from the other Maze, maybe she knows an Elizabeth."

 _The other Maze? Assuming there's only one other Maze, they're either talking about me or someone who came in my lost memories,_ I pondered, unconsciously placing my hand on the wall beside the door, nearly resting my head on the door.

"Teresa! Come over here!" A third voice called.

"What?" A surprisingly husky, feminine voice answered from afar.

"Get here!" The older voice ordered, obviously frustrated with the whole situation.

"You should be nicer to her, Harriet, she doesn't know anyone in here, she's as lost as we are," the third voice murmured indulgently.

I only heard a scoff before said-Teresa spoke, "What'd you want?" She seemed rather annoyed at Harriet.

"D'you know her? Elizabeth?" Harriet asked dryly.

"No, I told you I came in a Maze of boys. There was no other girl but me," Teresa replied coldly, probably glaring daggers in Harriet's direction.

"Maybe she's the equivalent of Nard?" A quiet voice murmured. I realized it had been the first one I heard.

"I told you we don't speak of Nard, Borte!" Harriet hissed.

"I'm just saying..." Borte muttered, and I heard a thud against the wall I was leaning on, "if this chick is the equivalent of Aris, then there must be one for Nard."

"Who the hell is Nard?" Teresa asked, annoyed.

Harriet sighed, "Nard, or Leonard, was a guy that came up the Lift a few months before Aris came and screwed everything over. He was weak and ran into the Maze one day, before the Closing of the Doors. We've never seen him since and decided we wouldn't tell Newbies that a guy was ever in the Maze."

I frowned at the thought and stepped back. So there _was_ my equivalent in their Glade... interesting. I pressed my lips together and shook my head. I needed to announce myself. I tried again at the door, but it was still locked.

I heard gasps before Harriet spoke, "Elizabeth? Is that you?"

I was about to confirm but I stopped myself. I needed to act as though I genuinely knew nothing, so I asked, "How'd you know my name?"

"It's written on the sign outside the door. Listen to me, I'm gonna break the lock so you need to back up, got it?" Harriet spoke somehow indulgently, which contrasted in the way she addressed her fellow Gladers.

"Uhh okay," I muttered uneasily as I walked towards the back wall.

About a minute later, the door flung open to reveal a tall black girl, a shorter blonde, a muscular Asian, and a fit brunette. My mind immediately assigned them to my friends, left back in the Glade: The first one would be Alby, the second Newt, the third Minho, and the fourth I couldn't really place on anyone I knew.

The black girl, who turned out to be Harriet, was breathing heavily as she sighed, "Hi. We have a lot to talk about, Newbie."


End file.
